


Second Chances

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: AU, Angst and Romance, F/M, Love, Oral Sex, PTSD, Sex, Tension, establishing a relationship, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrie cried and was on her knees, kneeling in front of him, her hands on his knees.</p><p>"No more running away, Quinn. This is gonna kill you. If you won't accept help, therapy that is, this is gonna take you. And I can't let that happen."</p><p>"Carrie..."</p><p>She saw what was going to happen and before he knew it she was with him, her arms wrapped around him.</p><p> <b>Complete now. Final chapter posted on September 17.</b></p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BWG71](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BWG71).



New York, sunny autumn afternoon, Carrie's phone rang.

-Max?

-Carrie. I found him. Shuffling around in Brooklyn. Not looking prime shape.

-Thank God. Oh my God. Is he with you?

-Didn't make myself seen yet. He used his phone. That's how I tracked him.

-Whom did he call?

-Entry he dialled said Clarice. She didn't answer.

-Fuck. But good she didn't answer. What's he doing now?

-Just bought some booze and is sitting on a bench next to Potomac playground now, scaring soccer moms to death with his gloomy stare.

-Max, it'll take me at least 60 minutes to get there, given the time of the day. You think you can get hold of him and talk him down? Or bring him to my place? You still have the keys I gave you?

-Sure. But...

-Max. Please. He's weak. He won't be able to run away. You've seen him. He must be exhausted. He's been up and about since ten. He needs his meds, already missed a dose. He probably didn't eat. And the booze will make it worse. Max. Please.

-Sure, Carrie, whatever you need.

So he was back. Back to doing under the radar surveillance for Carrie. After three fucking calm and often sad years, the most recent one in New York, working for the private security firm of one of Virgil's mates. And now freshly hired to secure the just elected president's appartment.

And right back in into Carrie's mess.

So he bought two Americanos at a Starbucks opposite the playground, asking for two empty extra cups  
on a second thought.

He was still there. Good. Carrie would kill him when he disappeared on his watch.

"Hey."

He sat and offered the coffee.

"No. Thanks, I...", he spoke a bit slow but appearently without difficulties, "holy fuck, the mute."

"I'm not mute."

"And still under her magic spell."

This didn't require an answer. He spilled some coffee and Max gave him a quizzical stare and then a nod.

"That sucks, uhm?"

"No, it's fun."

Max helped him to have a sip of coffee. He was thirsty. 

"Can I get some of your booze?"

"Sure. Be my guest. And open the fucking bottle. Cause I can buy the booze but can't open it. So fate sent you. Fate's a bitch with a fucking sense of humour."

Max poured two drinks in the empty cups, then securing the bottle in his backpack. Getting shitfaced on a playground, yeah, desperate times require desperate measures...

"Mwah, Quinn, that is liquid acid. You really serious about drinking that?"

"Oh, can't afford more. I only get a twenty each time now. She did that. She was pissed when I spent 900 Dollars in that one night with the girls. So she took my credit cards and secured my secret stash of cash."

Max chuckled.

"So you stopped taking showers in return. Nice. Passive agressive."

They emptied their coffees, Quinn downing the booze as well with Max holding the cup, Max donated his sip to the plants next to the playground.

"How about this? I bring you to a place with a shower and you grab one and get some cash and a decent whisky in return."

"You're not going to call her."

"No, I won't." She'll come home anyway.

So he brought him to Carrie's place, in the bedroom, hoping Carrie wouldn't be around yet.

Luckily she wasn't. Luckily she was still supertidy, no clothes out in the open.

Quinn shuffled to the bathroom but then stopped.

"Cash first."

"Jeez, man, you are not undressing for me. Just thought you might wanna get rid of whatever lives in these", pointing to Quinn's greasy hair.

"The mute makes a joke."

"I have a hundred with me. I'll get you more as soon as you're washed."

"Since when do you live here? It's big for one guy."

"Recently."

Quinn rummaged around the bathroom, then silence.

"Quinn? Are you alright?"

Nothing. Fuck.

"Buddy, you didn't pass out? I'm gonna come in, okay."

He was sitting in the tub and shaking.

Fuck.

"What is it? Can I help?"

"I can't do it on my own. I just...can't..."

He was trembling from frustration and Max swore to himself to finally delete Carrie from his life. This time for real. Fucking hell.

So he switched on the warm water, applied a generous load of shampoo and held the shower, hoping Quinn could do the rest alone. Somehow. But he had to rinse his hair.

God, damn it, washing Peter Quinn's hair. Could it get any worse? It could. And it did.

He had to help him out of the tub.

The much larger man was shaking.

"Mate, you know what? Why don't you take a break in that bed and I'll see if I can do something about your clothes? I'd offer mine but..."

"Fuck, Max, two jokes in less than an hour."

Quinn groaned when he rolled into the soft cover of the bed.

"Why did she send you? Why can't she just leave me the fuck alone?"

"Because she'd regret for the rest of her life that she didn't suceed to protect and love you", Max stated with a flat voice and left the room.

"Fara," was Quinn's last thought before he passed out.

He was still kind of out when Carrie slipped into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed, gently touching his hair. But he heard her, somewhere far away.

"God, Quinn, when will this stop? I just can't loose you again. There's so much I wanna tell you but you need to get better first."

And then he drifted off into deep sleep.

He came back with a sharp pain in his arm and stiff leg the next morning. Had that one fucking Mekong burn had such impact? No, his meds were overdue. He tried to raise but fell back into his pillow right away. This wasn't Max' place. Why would Max have a photo of a ginger curled child on his nightstand? 

Outsmarted by the mute who probabl y thought those hundred bucks were well spent for the greatest laugh he had had in history.

He groaned and finally sat up, surprised to find neatly folded clothes on a chair. Boxers, sweatpants, longsleeve. No straps, no buttons. His size. New Birkenstocks. His size too. And his pills. Morning dose on a saucer. All the fucking colours of a rainbow.

She came in when he was dressed, probably had heard the moans and struggles and the swearing.

Two cups of coffee. Both with two handles. No way she bought these just this morning, he had the broschure on his nightstand in the hospital. Order time three weeks. But right now he prepared these over emptying the coffee down his shirtfront or having her holding his cup.

"Max says hello. You owe him a hundred."

"He owes me a bottle."

"He said he'd keep it until you're better but would be happy to empty it together with you one day."

"Since when do you run a stroke patients' care unit?", pointing at the mugs and his clothes.

"Since I moved here. Just you weren't willing to listen to me."

He didn't have anything to offer as reply. So there emptied their coffee in silence.

"How's Max doing?"

"Don't really know. Somehow good. You saw him. He's talking and has much nicer clothes. About the rest...we're all damaged goods, Quinn. Why should Max be the exception?"

She was at the verge of tears and suddenly he was too.

This wasn't about Max. 

"Carrie...I...it's just I think I can't do this...," he made a vague gesture to the room, "none of this. I don't even now if I ever has it in me, to begin with. But now...I'm just so fucking scared and angry and tired."

"I'm not giving up on you, Quinn. And I'm not leaving you. Like it or not. Shower or not."

"Your jokes were always mediocre, even at best times."

"I know. But I try. To keep it together."

"I know. But I can't keep it together. I just can't."

"Christ, Quinn, nobody, certainly not I, expects you to keep it together. Try the opposite, letting it all go."

"Even worse."

"There's help, Quinn. I know it sounds like a pipedream but there's help. You can come back from this. All you need to do is to fight one more time. You survived the gas, you survived the stroke. They told me you'd die. I saw you dying in that chamber. And again in that hospital. But you survived. That you sit here and we can talk, knowing who you are and who I am, that you can walk around on your own and talk Max into opening your booze, all this makes you a fucking living and breathing miracle. And now I need you to be strong once more and make a decision. Accept help and fight once more. I'll never ask you for anything again. And if you don't wanna fight, I'll be with you all the way too. But you won't get far without help, real help. And I'd be pretty fucking sad to loose you after all you've been through just because you were too scared and too proud. I know it's hard. But I know you can do it. I know you can. Just try. And there are people who will help you. Professionals. Dar. And I - if you let me. You can stay here or at the veterans' home or we find a place for you, whatever you want, but I can help you. Let me help you, Quinn, please. Please."

She cried and was on her knees, knealing in front of him, her hands on his knees.

"No more running away, Quinn. This is gonna kill you. If you won't accept help, therapy that is, this is gonna take you. And I can't let that happen."

"Carrie..."

She saw what was going to happen and before he knew it she was with him, her arms wrapped around him.

And he cried, for the first time since Berlin he cried and couldn't stop.

It was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received lovely encouragement to go on with this story (which was a one-shot), so I'll give it a try.

* * *

Three weeks later

He saw Carrie most of the days now. She insisted on rules. And checking in on him on a daily schedule was one of those rules. Although he had to admit she wasn't really only checking in, she made an effort to do in a nice way.

As he'd refused to stay at her place - first and foremost because he couldn't be around a child, far too dangerous, what if he had a flashback when the little girl was around, but the thought of sharing a roof with Carrie hadn't been tempting either - she had found a place for him, temporarily until there were other arrangements. So it happened he stayed at Max' place now.

Carrie either saw him in the afternoon or later in the evening when Frannie was in bed. Those evening checks were always very brief, she didn't want to leave her child alone for too long.

When she met him in the afternoon he had to come to the playground, the ginger girl was playing there then. Carrie always brought one of those mugs and got coffee and refilled his coffee into the mug. She put lots of sugars in it, giving him a look which clearly said she'd win when it came to find ways to put calories into him. She brought snacks too, all bite-sized, so no embarrassing displays of lack of motor skills. Probably she had that size anyway for the little girl.

She had only one prerequisite: He had to shower and wear clean clothes. She said she didn't mind if he refused talking on bad days but she expects him to turn up in a way that wouldn't scare her child. He considered it a good deal, not having to talk in return for a shower.

But he never missed going to the playground in time. Usually it took him an hour to get there. He always went early so he was there when she arrived and couldn't watch him walking. For the way back he took a cab.

And she'd teamed up with Max who put fresh clothes out for him every morning before he left for work. The had a mute shower arrangement which worked out that way: Max put all his stuff in the bathroom, turned the shower on and then left. So he could shuffle in, have a shower, shuffle out, get dressed and then Max would come back and switch the shower off. His shampoo bottle was always open.

She kept getting stuff for him. Whenever she came to see him at Max' place she always had a bag from the medical supply store or more hoodies or a coat, saying it would be winter soon, or toiletries. Aftershave even. He took it as the hint it was probably intended. Which didn't mean he acted accordingly.

But once or twice he wondered if he'd ever been that man who came home from Islamabad, getting the first available car at the airport's car rental, stopping at the next best mall for a new suit, toiletries and aftershave, just to see the woman he cared for deeply, just to be with her on the worst day of her life. How little had he known about the definition of "worst".

Often he drifted. When he came back from it he had no idea how he ended up where he was then, different places of the town, or what he had done in between. Sometimes there were hints, like a shopping bag with things he apparently bought. Booze, once even fags, chocolate, he often wanted chocolate now, once he had a childrens' book in a Barnes & Nobles bag. He gave that to the girl, it was the first time he really talked to her. The way Carrie looked at him afterwards made him feel sick.

Once he came back from the haze and was at Clarice's place. Twice he called her intentionally and she and Mona picked him up. Part of the new arrangement was that he had access to money again, at least enough to pay for the ladies. Clarice dropped him close to the playground in the afternoon, just in time before Carrie and the little redhead came around the corner.

After he had cried in her arms and later had fallen asleep on her shoulder he found it even more  
difficult to allow her to touch him. She had formed the habit to hug him or give him a peck on his cheek when she had visited him in hospital, and God knew what else when he had been in coma. And each and every time when she did it now he felt himself stiffening. And then she backed away, smiling a sad smile. But sometimes he wished he could stop moving away from her or stop stiffening. Just to make that sad smile go away. But it didn't really matter.

With Clarice and Mona it was different. Of course it was different. No history involved when they were touching him. His brain was still working, more or less, so he _knew_ that his encounters with the girls were a fucking cliché. He knew Carrie knew when he'd been there. She never commented but she probably smelled the cheap artifical sandalwood incense. He was sure she did. But why should she say anything about it, it wasn't her business.

Carrie had forced him into therapy. So he saw a shrink now twice a week. That was his part of the deal. She still could do that to him. So he talked. It wasn't that talking would change the past.

" _What do you want me to tell you? I've seen the worst. I've done the worst. I got what deserved. And it's a fucking joke that I came back. What for? ... Why I'm here? Great question. I don't really now. ... Someone made a deal with me and made me promise to at least try. It's either that or the group taking care of me. Which means I'd probably never see dayligh_ t _again, given the secrets I could spill out._

_For a long time I had that tiny voice, saying "This is not normal, this is not how it should be" and I thought I follow that voice ... when I tried to eliminate targets._

_I kept telling myself that these were the bad guys. So that voice was tiny but alive._

_When I saw guys blown to bits._

_When I saw dogs eating human cadavers._

_When I saw people getting tortured._

_When I tortured people._

_When I saw families, villages eliminated with gas._  
  
_When I saw kids who stepped on landmines and they're gone below the knee, or gone below the elbow, or gone below the hand, and when I smelt their burned flesh and all that blood._

_When I saw victims of barrel bombs. Yeah, those. Assad says they don't exist. Well, I saw some. And I saw their victims._

_And heard their cries. Those cries...and that smell..._

_That voice was still there._

_But it got more and mor_ e _quiet. That voice was an anchor and once it's quiet it's hard to come back._

_'If you don't do it, people will die.' I heard that sentence so often. And it was right. But people still died._

_So I did it. I had both the ability and the opportunity. It's drilled into my DNA that people will die if I mess it up._

_Even if I didn't take a certain shot, I  
killed people with that decision._

_I was the harbinger of death. Maybe still am. Where ever I went I brought destruction a_ nd _death. I still see so many of those faces._

_The second before they died all those faces showed the same bleak and empty stare. The moment of recognition. And then emptiness. No enlightenment. Emptiness._

_And every time I did not only kill a bad guy but a son, brother, friend and husband too. But it had to be done. That's what I believed._

_And then in that chamber I realized, it doesn't matter._

_Evil will always win._

_Already did win._

_Once in Syria I was after a target. And then I saw that truck on a farm road. It didn't move for hours. I went there at night._

_It was a family of six. All dead. Gut-shot. The youngest was barely a year. They just had been at the wrong place, between the lines of rebels and Assad's troops._

_So when I am in that chamber again, I wonder why I survived and they died."_

So that was how those sessions went. It wasn't a relief, it didn't minimize the anxiety or the anger or the flashbacks. He still kept drifting, sometimes losing hours or just minutes. But nobody could accuse him of not trying. It didn't matter anymore - he could just tell them and it wouldn't change a thing.

It didn't matter.

The past was the past.

"So it doesn't matter but still you go", stated Max one night. There were days when they didn't talk at all but he was definitely not mute. A pity, in a way.

"So why do you go?"

Yeah, why did he go? Because she wanted him to go. As simple and as frustrating as that.

Max opened him a beer, he gave a shit about Carrie's no alcoholic drinks-policy for Quinn and allowed him one or two bottles each evening. He'd even brought him a handful of green straws from Starbucks and with one of these he could drink it without any mishaps.

"She said I have to", he muttered. "Either that or Adal's taking over."

"And that would be worse?"

"Think so."

"You could just take a gun and put a bullet through your head."

"Well, thank you."

"I'm not saying you should. Just saying you could."

"You would be the one to find me."

"If you stain my carpet I won't get my security deposit back."

"Another joke. Never took you for a clown."

"So when it's so bad and you don't care, why bother? Why do you force yourself through rehab and therapy and shit?"

"I honestly don't know."

"But I know."

"Mind sharing your wisdom?"

"Oh, you know too."

Yeah, he knew. She still could do that to him. She was so fucking calm now. And so patient. Like he was her child too. The ginger girl and her little brother, he's having some issues, but we learnt to cope.

Eventually she'd move on. And then he could still decide about what to do.

Sometimes he followed her. Not real covert ops, he was to incapacitated for that. But she told him about her days and appointments and so he knew where to find her. She was so off her guard these days, she didn't even check if someone was following her.

She met the same guy twice for lunch in one week, the professor she told him about. Her german ex-boss was around too. And she'd see Saul next week. For the first time since Berlin. Maybe that was worth watching.

Max lived a lonely life. But who was he to judge.

"Did you ever, dunno, look for someone else?", he asked between two sips from his green straw.

"Why should I?"

"Dunno, guess, that's what people are supposed to do. Move on."

"Says the fucking king of moving on?"

"Right."

"I never expected to find someone in the first place", Max offered after a minute while dealing with the take away containers.

"Yeah, I get that."

"Well, thank you."

He needed a moment to catch up.  
"Oh. Sorry. No. Not because of you. Because I never expected to find someone. So I understand what you say. That's what I meant."

"And then with Fara...I went to Islamabad just because she had signed up."

"Did you ever had a chance to tell her?"

"No. I didn't have the balls. But..."

"Uhm?"

"I...the day before it happened...I asked her out for dinner for the next Saturday. She said yes and...yeah, so she knew I liked her, at least that's what I hope. Even with that dinner never happening."

Quinn felt suddenly very sad. That wasn't in his usual repertoire these days so he noticed.

"You know, Fara wasn't...someone taking a date easy...so I'm sure she knew. And accepting your invitation meant she...probably liked the thought."

"Think so or just playing nice house guest?"

"I honestly think so. She once told me about meeting the few people in life you just connect with."

Max sad smile was the truest thing he'd seen in a long while.

"I hope she knew she wasn't alone when she died. At least that's what I told her Dad."

Max put the last containers in the fridge and made a headstart towards his bedroom, leaving him alone with his beer and his straw.

Sleep didn't come easily to him that night.

He gave in at around midnight and called her. When she answered the phone her voice was sleepy but not annoyed. He'd never called her since that day in Missouri.

But maybe it was time to tell her.

"Quinn. Everything's alright?"

"Yeah. It's just..."

"Uhm?"

"I...I saw you on the other side of the glass. I knew you were there."

"Oh my God. Quinn...oh my God."

He knew she was probably  
crying now.

"I always thought I'd die alone. So...that meant a lot. That it was you. There. That moment."

She didn't say anything but he heard muffled sobbing.

"I was ready to go", if nothing else, honesty had always been their currency, so he settled for honesty, "and I wasn't alone. So I was ready to call it a day."

"Quinn...", he knew what she was going to say and could brace himself, "can I see you? Can you take a cab and come here? I'd really like to see you."

"No, Carrie, you know that's not a good idea", and then after a beat, "I just can't. It's...I just can't.

"I know, Quinn. I know. But I...let's just say I wanted at least say it."

"Yeah."

"Quinn?"

"Uhm?"

"I know you are trying. And I know it's hard."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Carrie. Good night."

"Good night, Quinn. I hope you'll sleep well."

"You too."

They both didn't hang up.

"You still there?"

"I am, Quinn, I am."

She had never been one to shirk or give up easily, he always had known.

"Good night, Carrie. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's monologue in therapy comes from various sources and I only filled in the blanks with my own words. I recently read memories of veterans from recent wars, some you  
> might have seen the link on LJ already, http://www.humansofnewyork.com. And I figured it wouldn't do them justice to rewrite my own version of it, without ever having been through what they're through. So I copied a few of their sentences almost verbatim and added then my own words to fill in Q's story.


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you consider yourself as suicidal?", his shrink asked at the end of one of his sessions.

His therapy was called Narrative Exposure Therapy, NET, and he was meant to recall his life's history, every single fucking step til today. And to talk about it. Good stuff, bad stuff, normal things, traumatic incidents. 

“Trauma causes the brain to malfunction. During a traumatic experience, memories cannot be processed correctly. So you are still carrying those traumatic experiences around in your brain. Because those experiences were never filed away into the ‘past tense,’ the brain continues to operate as if the trauma is happening in the ‘present tense.’ It’s like a computer with a program that's running constantly in the background. The idle is way too high. And it’s an exhausting way to live. So those memories need to be revisited and processed", that was what she had told him when they had started their sessions.

And he might had lost some of his capabilities on his way, but he was not a know-nothing. He'd seen soldiers, comrades, friends, suffering and he knew there was help. He knew that approach made sense.

Just - what was he supposed to give as happy memories?

Quinn huffed a bitter laugh. As if it were that simple.

"What was that about, Peter?"

"It's not that I wouldn't have an idea how to do it."

"Clarify, please."

"Well, I know how to use a gun, I have free access to all kinds of prescription drugs, you even threw in some nice Valium, I have a recent history of drug abuse, one guy at the veterans' hospital used the lamp cord...it's not that I couldn't come up with a way to transfer myself right into kingdom come."

"But you didn't. Do you plan it?"

"You do know most suicides aren't planned, don't you?"

"I do. But you seem like man of very deliberate actions. So why not?"

"Are you telling me I should kill myself?"

"No. I want to understand what's holding you back. What makes you carry on. Because, I'll be honest with you, in your timeline you didn't give any input that would give the impression of a happy memory. You claim not to be religious. You come here twice a week and yet you don't work with me."

"I do the fucking walk down the memory lane."

"Reluctantly. So let's talk about happy memories. What makes you come back here?"

"I just don't quit. That's not me. I am a soldier. I know the drill."

"You'll never be able to go back to active service again."

"Well, thank you. That's what I call a confidence boost."

"And sadly a significant number of veterans choose suicide as exit option. You're well aware of it. So what makes you carry on? Peter, I can't help you if we don't go there."

She said she could not lose me. If I end it her guilt will eat her up. So I'm stuck.

Maybe it wasn't the right therapy approach for him.

\--------------------

Talking to Max was easier. He wasn't so insistent on answers, just listened and offered him another beer with a straw. 

“The military is mostly filled with people who genuinely desire to do the right thing. I started there too. But that's what I learnt: the right thing is never clear in war."

"Sounds a bit trite."

"If you shoot too early, an innocent person gets killed. If you shoot too late, an innocent person gets killed."

"Add drones and make it a hundred. Or more."

"Yeah. Most of the time I'm feeling like I did something wrong. Or I didn’t give enough."

"You really think we all go there to do the right thing? Isn't there a bit more grey in the picture?"

“We were built to think alike. Everything is so standardized in the military that you can function without thinking. If I ever needed night vision goggles, somebody could throw me their bag, and I’d know exactly what pocket to find them in. We were like cogs in a wheel."

"Yeah, sure Peter Quinn a cog in a wheel."

"And that may sound like a bad thing - but it’s not. Nobody wants to think of themselves as cogs in a wheel, but humans love structure. Our behavior is predictive. All of us tend to be in the same place, at the same time, every single day. You buy your coffee at the same Starbucks every day. They know your name, write it on your cup. There are three more less than a block away. But you always go there. Cog in a wheel. That tendency is just accelerated in the military. And it feels good. It feels good to know your place. You feel got that the Barista knows your name. And it feels good to know exactly what you’re contributing to the mission, to the team, and to the country as a whole. I believed that. I honestly believed that. I lived it. Your value is so clear. So, no, I don't think there's much grey in the picture, at least not where we start. It's black and white, standarized. That makes it so tempting."

"You sound like that fucking ginger. Like you wanna be a Marine. What were you again? Delta Force?"

"Long time ago. But then...I went too far. Too often alone. I don't know. But the lines became blurred. I couldn't see the value anymore. But I still went on missions. It is addictive. To go on missions. I still has me. I still would go, I guess."

"Oh, let me know before you vanish. Because she would be so pissed. I'd like to be out of town then."

"She's a survivor. She would survive. It's not that I'm such a great addition to her lifestyle."

"You know you're talking rubbish, don't you?"

\----------------------------

At night, when Frannie was in bed and she had finished catching up on emails which had come in throughout the afternoon and had ended her nightly debrief talk with Elisabeth, Carrie often stood at the window and looked down to the dark playground. She could see one corner, the rest was hidden behind the corner building. 

Soon it would be to cold to meet outside every afternoon. Even now it was kind of ridiculous as it was dark by five and Frannie was the only child playing in the chilly autumn wind most afternoons. But Quinn refused to come upstairs and meet at her place.

She didn't insist, her fear he might just not show up and go awol again was too big.

When she went to bed she often cried. It was six months now, his progress in terms of physical rehab was outstanding, "of course it is" Dar had snorted when she'd made a comment, and yet they were stuck. He was stuck in limbo. And she had no idea how to help him. He walked, he talked, he waited for her every afternoon at the playground, once he'd even brought a present, a book, for Frannie. She knew he and Max had formed a friendship. But Max wasn't talking to her about it.

"You wanted me to be his friend, his roommate even, so now I am. And you should have considered that friends don't gossip about what they talk about."

Fucking Max. She loved him. She never had felt for a friend like she felt for Max. It was the closest thing to platonic love she'd ever felt.

Quinn had cried in her arms. He had admitted he'd seen her on the other side of the glass. But he moved away when she hugged him. And looked hurt when she didn't. 

Of course she'd tried. Usually she hugged him when they met. So for two days she hadn't done it, carefully monitoring his reaction. And then she'd felt cruel and had hugged him extra long before leaving. Which made him detach after a few seconds. She turned and busied herself with Frannie's backpack before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

She'd kept it together for so long. Her overhasted and unfortunate departure from Germany, the difficult transition to New York, finding a new job which allowed her to be with Frannie and Quinn. Once again Otto had helped, generous, caring, understanding Otto. Unwanted as partner but much needed as friend. 

And there she was now, a few weeks ago Elisabeth had picked her as advisor and she was in sharing her time now between her job at the foundation and Elisabeth's office, and had no idea whether she should go back to Washington with Elisatbeth and per her request or stay in New York. 

She wanted to talk about it with Quinn but so far she hadn't had the guts.

Because talking about staying in New York meant talking about them and she had no idea if there was such thing - a "we" - or if it ever would be.

That phonecall three weeks ago had been a silver lining at the horizon, the first and only time she felt he was still there and admitted he cared. But it had been brief. And when he said he couldn't come to see her she understood and heard the pain in his words. She thought he might need more time but that his tearful breakdown and that phone call might be the first steps of more to come. But since then - not much.

She told herself to be patient. Quinn was absolutely not in a state to make any life-altering decisions, she could be glad he made it that far. She knew that, and she knew that he fought each and every day. She even knew that he was probably doing it for her. Or because of her. But she missed him so much. Even seeing him every day was no cure, although she was well aware that she had more of him as ever before. But she longed to tell him what she felt, when she saw him, when she'd sat at his bedside, or during those long lonely hours at night. She didn't dare to raise the topic though, but probably he knew,  
at least since she'd asked him to come over after their late night phone call.

But she cried many nights. If not right away then at the middle of the night after the nightmares.

Sometimes she'd already pressed his number on her phone, just to hear his voice, to hear he was alive when she just had seen him dying in her dream again, but she never managed to finally press the call-button.

Because this was about him and not about her.

\-----------------------

Still he often missed long periods of time throughout the day, his mind just went elsewhere then. His shrink made a serious face, insisting in he had to made an effort to find out what his triggers were.

That was easy - simply everything.

"It can be a dog, a voice, a reflection in a window, the sound of a motor cycle having a misfire, steam from a basement window, everything."

"We have to work on strategies how you can cope with your triggers which is simply impossible if you can't narrow them down. You need to learn to stay focussed and present, there are techniques. Breathing techniques, eye movements, hand taps."

"Hand taps? Like...a nervous creep? I mean, my PT is working hard to make the shaking get better..."

"Hand taps. Peter, your trauma has been severe. We can't take that away. This will stay with you forever. There's no running away or hiding. What we can do is work on how you react to memories of your trauma. Because none of what you see in a flashback or when you're drifting and your brain just shuts down, locking bad memories and emotions out, setting you on autopilot, none of these memories are real."

"They feel very real to me."

"Because you've been there. It happened. To you. And you couldn't make it stop. And now, whenever you go back there, your brain processes these memories still as incidents happening right now, here, in this very moment. Your brain struggles to categorize and handle them as past. So whenever it happens you go through the same trauma again, it happens to you again, and I know it feels real and that's why your body exactly reacts how it would under real circumstances. Cortisol, panic, survival. What you call drifting is a way your brain developed to cope, but it's not the most healthy way. And we'll try to re-program that."

"Re-program? No more memory walks?"

"We'll still do those. They'll help you in the long run, to categorize and recognize what happened to you as past, painful, horrible experiences which now are behind you. But you need techniques to snap you out of it before you go on autopilot or panic."

So he had to learn certain hand taps and other stimuli like breathing patterns and eye movements to prevent himself from going there. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't. It was ridiculous.

"It's hard to think about all of this on purpose, Peter, I know. But only if you learn to handle this, it'll get better."

So he went to the most terrifying places twice a week, intentionally.

Sometimes she guided him through a single incidents, step by step, he was supposed to recall as detailed as he could, to focus on external circumstances like the weather, what had been his breakfast that day, how had his vehicle looked.

Other sessions were called "flooding" and he had to bring up as many incidents as he could and she gave him even more from his files, that way he was supposed to learn not to feel overwhelmed but stick to his coping techniques. It never worked. Half way through it he always folded, and was there again, a merry-go-round, faster and faster, all those memories, and then he couldn't breathe anymore and was at the bottom if that chamber again...next thing always was that he needed air, doubled down, fell to the floor, cramping and fighting for oxygen.

After those sessions he was utterly done in, a shaking, sweating mess.

Once he had a flashback while talking to his therapist. Something she said made him snap and he was back in Gouta. It ended with her pressing her security button when he went for her throat and two soldiers storming the room and pulling him back. She was very polite but very serious about it. If it would happen again he would have to leave the program and change into a clinical program.

In his third week of therapy he asked if they could move his appointments into the morning. He needed time to calm down and sleep before meeting Carrie and the girl.

The therapist said they could but only if she told him why.

"Uhm...I have another appointment in the afternoon."

"Therapy?"

"No."

He could see how she was about to inquire further but then decided to drop it.

But three days later she asked him if there was somebody he'd like to talk about his therapy.

"There are partner sessions available. Those can be a great help, for everybody involved."

"Not necessary." But of course he had the imagine of Carrie in his mind, Carrie on the other side of the glass. Carrie holding his hand in hospital, very early, just after waking up. Carrie yelling at Dar. Carrie crying in a chair in a dark hospital room. And Carrie who had built a new life, once again. So well put together these days. Patient, caring, measured Carrie, being pals with the future president, back to being brilliant, being as far as he could see a loving mom, juggling it all without ever dropping a ball.

Besides that one moment they'd never spoken about her finding him in Berlin and he didn't really intend to. But he knew they probably should. What had that made with her? Had she just shrugged it off?

\---------------------------

Sometimes he followed her. Every time he swore to himself to stop but it was fascinated to watch her. How she spoke with clients - that's what she called those poor creatures, clients - how she discussed with her double degree professor friend, how she had dinner with the future president. Once Dar was there too. And of course he was made.

Dar paid him a visit the next morning.

"Peter, join me for breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"You gained some weight, did you? Liquid diet?"

"Not your business."

"Well, you decide to cut all socially accepted niceties...maybe that's why you are tailing Mathison? Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Get your shit together, Peter. Being tracked down as the future president's stalker is no fun fair, especially not when they reveal your history. I let your so-called recovery in the not so capable hands of Carrie for quite a while now but consider this as an honest and true warning."

He knew what that warning implied. But he couldn't stop following her every now and then. Just not to meetings with the future president anymore. But that university guy was a civilian. Still he felt a familiar itch in his guts when he saw him, some hunch. But his instincts, once inerrantly, had failed him, the Berlin-Kosovo-round trip wouldn't have happened if he'd still been able to see and feel what others didn't see and feel. He was no intelligence agent anymore and that guy was probably just stinging him because he had a life and looked so obnoxiously content and had lunch or meetings with Carrie three times a week.

But still he followed him three or four times, saw where is office was and where he lived. Strangely enough he seemed to have two appartments, but who knew, maybe he had two wives?

Carrie spoke a lot about her work, but he didn't really listen. Why would he develop a particular interest in advocacy work for Muslims falsely accused of terrorism in the US? Sometimes her voice was just white background noise and he focussed on her hands and her smiles. She smiled a lot when the girl was around. And her hands were beautiful. He'd never noticed that before. 

Sometimes her ramblings made him angry, very angry. So then he left early because what was the point, it wasn't her fault. None of it had been her fault. She had just been Carrie.

\----------------------------  
One afternoon he had a flashback while they sat on the bench next to the playground. It was a cold afternoon, people were rushing on the streets to get home from work, a week before Thanksgiving. Soon it would be dark. They sat on their bench, had coffee and Carrie just commented on being glad for one other kid being on the playground so Frannie had a companion. He had no idea what triggered. He noticed it would happen, just two seconds before, tried to get up and away from her, but it was too late and he was in that chamber again, couldn't breathe, felt every single of his muscles going into overdrive, losing it all, at it hurt so much, and he fell and...

tap tap tap tap tap tap

"Quinn. I need you to stay here."

tap tap tap tap

"Quinn. Focus. This is not now. Whatever you see. It is not now. Could you please take care of my daughter over there. My friend's having some breathing issues. Please keep her away for a moment. No, no ambulance."

Her voice was calm and cristall clear and still so far away. He was far away and about to die. Wasting so many lives. Wasting his own life and now it was over and he'd never...and the pain was unbearable and he lost it all, bile and puke and urine and tears and all and it hurt so much and his lungs wouldn't just fold and stop fighting. And he wasn't ready to go and yet it was too much, it hurt and - 

tap tap tap tap

"Quinn. This is not real. I am real. Concentrate on the taps and my voice. This is the past."

tap tap tap tap

"Whatever you see, it's behind you.  
It's November 2016. We are in New York. We just had coffee together. Black coffee, two sugar. Frannie had a cookie. You didn't want one."

tap tap tap tap

"I just said you need warmer clothes and you were about to make a snarky comment. Cause you hate it when I buy stuff for you."

tap tap tap tap

"Focus. You can come out of it. You can do that. Just breathe. See, this is so much better."

tap tap tap tap

"Feel my hand. Feel the taps. Concentrate on these. And now breathe. In on one, out on three. One two three. One two three. One two three. There. Better. Don't go back there. Just focus. We're in Brooklyn. One two three. Focus. One two three. It's me, Carrie. I'm kneeling to your left. You fell. One two three. It's my hand doing the taps on your left wrist. Keep breathing. Focus. You're doing great. Just breathe. One two three. No, don't go back there. Focus on the taps and my voice. Look at me. This is me, Carrie. Concentrate on the taps and your breathing, you can do that. See, you can do that."

She'd stopped the taps but her hand was holding his now, squeezing firmly.

"Don't stop focussing on your breathing. This is good. You're doing good, Quinn. Now let's see if we can get you to sit up or maybe back on that bench. Can you sit up?"

Slowly things came into focus again. He saw the swings, oddly high from his angel, he saw the two kids playing with the other mom, a coffee cup on the ground, and he saw Carrie, kneeling on the dirty ground, her bags hastily thrown beside her, her scarf disheveled over one shoulder, her eyes on his face.

"Hey. There you are. Glad you came back", he saw her worried eyes but she gave him a little smile.

Another squeeze around his hand which was shaking now. His whole body was shaking.

"Try to sit up. C'mere, hold on to me."

She managed to pull him into a seating position but there was no way how she could get him any further, not alone. He was still a tall men with a muscular frame and Dar had been right he inseed had been putting some weight on. Whereas she was as petite as ever, and without him being able to support his own weight they wouldn't get any further.

"Quinn, we need help. I'll be back in a sec, okay?"

But he didn't let go of her hand, his fingers in an iron grip around hers.

"Sorry, please may I ask you for help one more time", she adressed the other woman, "could you go to that corner store over there and ask for Said. Tell him Carrie needs his help here. I am so sorry to bother you but we're having a little issue here. I'll have an eye on the girls", and when the woman had left he could let her hand go.

"Quinn, Said's one of my clients. He'll help us to get home. God, you're shaking. You need a hot shower and some rest. We'll talk later, uhm? See, there he's coming", she indicated to a tall man in his fifties who just crossed the street with the other woman.

Carrie got up and made a few steps in his direction, relieved beyond words that he was here.

After a few words with him she came back and kneeled back down.

"Quinn. God, you're freezing. Quinn, Said will help you to get up now. He's gonna touch you and you can lean against him. Don't be afraid, he is a good man. It's not far. We'll go to my place, okay? C'mon Quinn, let's get you up. Just this and you can have a break soon."

An hour later he laid warmly wrapped in fresh clothes and a blanket in Carrie's bed.

He hadn't had the energy to protest. Carrie had put a pill under his tongue the moment they came in and ever since he felt like wrapped in cotton wool. 

He'd been a shivering mess, covered with cold sweat, soil and dirt from the playground.

Suddenly Max had been there, with more pills, probably his own,  
and a worried look on his face, had helped him to get into the shower and to get dressed afterwards, again Carrie had provided fresh clothes, how did she do this? He didn't really care, and just getting some rest was so tempting, he was so cold and tired and all was in a haze and when she said he might need a break he just gave in.

He heard her voice, Max' voice, thanking Said and sending him away, the kid's squeaky small voice, water running, he wasn't probably really sleeping, just drifting, but eyes closed, Max and Carrie talking, a door opening and closing, a phone ringing, later a hand on his forehead, just an elusive touch, maybe he dreamt that, it was dark in the room now, he couldn't be in a dark room, but he couldn't move, he felt like under water and it was still dark - "hey, Quinn, shhhh, it's okay, just go back to sleep, you need a break."

"L-light."

"Sure. I'll switch on the bedside lamp. It'll be on. I won't switch it off. You're safe now. Just sleep."

Again a soft touch, this time on his cheek.

Quinn woke up with a start at 4 am, having no idea where he was. The blurry haze was gone and it all came back. The playground, the flashback, Carrie, kneeling in the dirt next to him, that man dragging him to Carrie's place, God...

The bedside lamp gave a warm light, the rest of the room was still dark. Carrie laid next to him, fully dressed, on top of the comforter, head rolled back to the bed's head piece, a folder with papers next to her. Probably she'd sat there, reading or working, having an eye on him. She looked exhausted. The black shirt she was wearing made her skin look very pale. He hated noticed those rings under her eyes before. Maybe she was usually using make up. She should have a proper night's sleep now and not sleep half-seated next to a flight risk.

Of course she'd done her homework. He should've known the moment his therapist brought up the question of partner sessions. Probably he was angry that she'd been there behind his back - or maybe had at least asked for instructions - but he'd been fucked if she hadn't been there today. Completely fucked. Crawling in a playground's dirty soil was a new low, even he had to admit that. But she'd made him snap out of it. And she'd been good at it, very good. Calm, measured, present, helping him to focus on non-dangerous things, offerings him connections to the present like recalling the coffee, Frannie's cookie, talking about clothes just before it happened - his therapist would be impressed. If she'd ever witness it.

He was pretty sure she'd given him a tranquilizer afterwards, that first pill, Xanax probably, because he'd been knocked out cold for hours now and couldn't imagine any other way how he would've allowed himself to collapse in her bed. He briefly remembered Max being around too. Fucking Max.

This had to stop. 

He would get up and leave now, this had to stop. He couldn't be here, be with her, and he couldn't let that happen ever again. It was too cold and dark in the afternoons anyway now, so they'd just stop their playground sittings.

But when he was about to try to get up she heard him, of course she did, being the clumsy mess he was now.

"Quinn. You're awake. How are you?"

"Alright."

"Look at me, Quinn."

But he had just managed to get his legs over the edge and certainly wouldn't move back now. 

"What's up?"

"Quinn. You're not leaving now. Don't run away."

"It's not that I'm much of a runner these days."

Of course she was up on her feet now and rounding the bed, blocking the easy way out.

"Quinn..."

"Carrie, no. Thank you for helping me, sorry for bothering you, I hope your daughter's fine and I'll leave now."

"Quinn, no. It's in the middle of the night. Stay at least til morning."

"No. Carrie, I won't. Please let me pass."

"Quinn. Let me help. Please."

"You've done enough Carrie. I'm fine."

She closed her eyes and stepped back, giving him way to the door. 

"It's...", she thought briefly about saying 'hard for me too' but what was the point, he wasn't trying to be mean, just honest, "...cold. And your clothes were wet. Stay still tomorrow."

"Did you ever think about what I could do during such a flashback? To you? Or your child? Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think about what I am and could do?"

"Quinn, you would never...", but he interrupted her.

"You have no, absolutely no way of knowing this. So, no, I'm leaving now."

"Can I see you tomorrow? Without Frannie? We need to talk, Quinn."

He sighed, wondering why she made it always so fucking hard. 

"Carrie... I...I'll just go now. Let's take a break. Catch up some sleep. Sorry for...waking you up and all that."

"Quinn, please."

But he already was on his way to the hallway, looking for his shoes, silently swearing that it would take him minutes to get into these, so much about making a headstart.

Carrie was behind him, silent now but he knew she was at the verge of tears, he just knew it. It wasn't that he was far away from it either.

Max stood next to the front door, it was like the fable of the hare and the hedgehog, Max seemed to be everywhere this night. He even helped him to get into his goddamn shoes when he noticed his hands were shaking.

They left without a further word, Max gave Carrie a tight hug and Quinn knew he should say something, but a 'thank you' wouldn't have exactly covered his conflicting emotions  
and felt far too trite and he didn't trust his voice anyway. So he just turned, looked at her, of course she looked his way exactly that moment. Their eyes met for a long second and all he could do was to press his lips together and leave.

It was a strange moment, because she saw he wasn't angry, just desperate. But after so many months she didn't know if she still had it in her to persevere, she just felt bone deep exhausted. So she just stood in the hallway and watched them leaving, unsuccessfully fighting her tears back.

When they were gone she crawled back into her bed, laying down on the spot Quinn had used just until minutes before. It was still warm there. 

His warmth. 

She cried until it was time to wake up Frannie.

\------------------------

Max granted him three minutes of silence and only spoke when they were out on the street, it was dark and cold, snow would come soon.

"You know you're an ass, do you?"

"Why exactly?"

"Ever considered that this is not just about you?"

"That's one of the reasons why I left."

"Sure. At 4am. Did you see her? You could at least grant her a full night's sleep."

"She'll manage. Why were you there anyway?"

"Cos she called me. To bring your meds and deal with your fucking pride when it comes to shower and getting dressed. And probably because she couldn't deal with scared Frannie and you at the same time."

"I didn't ask her to bring me to her place."

"No, you didn't. I've got news for you: You were a fucking shaking mess and she helped you. You were not at all in a condition to go home alone.  
You were happy she was around and knew what to do. She sat next to your sleeping pity self for hours this night, she's the one who found that therapy facility for you in no time, others wait for months, she's juggling two jobs, her condition, her child and you and goes to support groups at least once a week to learn how to help you. She came to New York because you are here. Elisabeth Keane offered her a job in her team in Washington which she hesitates to accept because you are here in New York. She doesn't even dare to talk with you about it. She feels guilty for what happened to you and was there for you ever since - do you really think running away at 4 am as if the bogeyman is behind you is an appropriate way to say thank you? Did you ever thank her, just once? Or ask her how she is? Or how Berlin was for her?"

"I liked it when you were mute."

"I was never mute."

"Berlin wasn't her fault. I would have been killed at the post office if she hadn't been around. They were waiting for me to tidy up their ops.  
I was a lose end, I could have told or confronted Saul about Carrie. I was on their list from the very moment they put her name in the box."

"It's not me whom you should tell that."

"She's in the business long enough to know."

"Sure."

"She is."

"Sure."

"Now you're back to mute, huh? Giving me a lecture and now back to mute. Great."

"There's a cab. C'mon, I wouldn't mind two more hours of sleep."

\-----------------------

Quinn slept most of the day. He even missed his therapy session.

In the afternoon, after some consideration, he went to the playground. But Carrie wasn't there. He waited until it was dark but she didn't come. 

So he went back to the tube station. The one down the block, where he coincidentally passed by her brownstone. Her windows were dark.

He only saw her message a few hours later when he was about to go to bed.

"I'm sorry. We should talk. But I'm stuck in a meeting with Elisabeth. So I won't make it to the playground today. Not sure you'll be up to go there anyway. Frannie's with a friend. So maybe we can meet later? Let me know what you think."

She'd sent it at three o'clock. Now it was after ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I used some sentences from the HONY veterans' portraits. I only can recommend them again.
> 
> The therapy approaches explained here are realistic.
> 
> As always your comments are very much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still New York, still November. A bleak time of the year. And Thanksgiving is just around the corner.

Quinn shuffled back to the kitchen, getting a glas of water for his meds, surprised that Max was still sitting there in the dark.

While filling his glass he decided he had to know and Max was still pissed with him anyway, they hadn't talked a lot since he came back home from his playground walk. Not that he usually was a fan of hearts to hearts with a too chatty Max...but angry Max was not good either.

"Uhm, did you talk to Carrie today?", aiming for casual and missing for about a mile.

"I did."

"Okay..."

Silence. Max wouldn't say more. _At least not without being asked for more, fucking stubborn bastard._

"What did she say?"

"You think that's your business?"

Pursing his lips a stretched "Well..." was all he could come up with.

"How about the two of you talk _together_ for a nice change, instead of talking to me _about_ each other? Although I can't blame Carrie for losing her stamina here."

Quinn wasn't prepared for the emotion that casual statement jolted through his guts, he suddenly felt sick.

"Right, well...just wanted to know if...she's okay...the girl's okay...forget about it. Night."

"Since you're asking. Well, your kind of asking, the one without a question. No, she's not okay. Yes, Frannie, her name is Frannie, and not the girl or the ginger kid or the little one or the curly head or her child, just Frannie, and she's four, I really like her, she's funny and smart and likes dinosaurs but is afraid of spiders, she calls me 'Uncle Max' and painted a picture for my birthday, she is okay. Because Carrie did a damn good job in calming her back down and never let her see how sad she she is or how terrible last night was for her. But for God's sake, use her name, it's Frannie."

"The girl calls you 'Uncle Max'?"

"Yes. That's what she does. Because I am a person for her. She's attached to me. And I'm attached to her. I take her to the zoo or museum on Sundays, to give Carrie a break. Last Sunday we went ice skating. And you did it again. Avoiding her name."

"Okay", he sighed because he still didn't got what he wanted to know, somehow Max was either not talking or oversharing these days, "so Frannie calls you 'Uncle Max'. That's sweet I guess", fully aware he was an ass right now because he somehow knew what it probably meant for Max, "anything else?"

"Carrie called around seven to ask if you're home and okay."

"Anything else?" _Like, did she want to talk to me?_

"No. What else was there to ask? After your 4 am performance? I'm  
going to bed. Good night."

_Ouch. Fucking Max. So it was really possible - to be at loggerheads with Max. And since when do I care about shit like this? Uncle Max._

Still it took him til midnight to make a decision and he briefly considered how it would feel in case she wouldn't pick up her phone. But, she'd suggested to meet, hadn't she?  
  
So he finally pressed the button. He interrupted the call before her mailbox could answer and tried it again.

Just one more time.

Her voice was very sleepy.

"Quinn."

"Carrie. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's midnight."

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Listen, I...I just saw your message and wanted to say...sorry that I didn't see it earlier."

"Yeah. Maybe you should use your phone as you happen to have one."

"It's not that I get too many calls or messages."

"Yeah. Listen, Quinn, I'm really tired. I had a long day and not much...well, anyway, I need to sleep. Thanks for calling."

Max' sentence about understanding Carrie losing her stamina flickered through his mind and he was surprised how much it stung, feeling how Carrie was detaching.

_Or just protecting herself._

"Carrie."

"What is it?"

"I...I've been waiting for you at the playground this afternoon", and then when she inhaled as if to say something, "no, no, I'm not reproaching you for not coming. I just wanted...I didn't see your text, really, and I was waiting for you."

"Quinn..."

He knew she was probably crying and wondered if they'd ever manage to have a phone conversation without making her cry.

_Maybe I should call her more often, that would be a first step for higher chances._

"I did not not answer intentionally. I...I wanted...to see you."

She was crying now, he heard it.

"Listen, Carrie, I...know...I'm fucking impossible...I know that...it's just...fuck..."

"Quinn, I know, it's...it's okay...it really is...now..."

"Can...I mean...it's okay if you can't...or don't want to...I get it...but maybe...can we meet tomorrow?"

He heard her taking a deep breath and noticed how he hold his breath too.

"Sure. But not the playground."

Suddenly Carrie was back in charge, calm and kind of distanced. Not unfriendly, just distanced.

"Uhm, okay then...."

"How about a walk during my lunch break?"

"Carrie, I..."

"Quinn, for fuck's sake. I know how you walk. I know it's hard. And I admire how hard you fought to relearn it. So please...I'd really like a walk. A short stroll."

"Okay then. A walk."

"You know where my office is?"

"Uhm, I can check..."

"There's the Japanese Garden just opposite the road. I've only been there once, in summer."

"I'll find it."

_It's not that I haven't been there like fifteen times to watch you coming out of the building._

"One o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

That would mean he had to get there right after his therapy session but he just had to handle that.

"Good night, Quinn."

"Good night."

He still held the phone to his ear when she broke the connection, wondering what exactly he'd been expecting.

\-------------------

His shrink noticed his lack of concentration rather quickly, asking him for the reason and instantly making the connection with his missing of yesterday's session.

He was supposed to focus on happy memories in his timeline and that was difficult anyway.

He had given her some bits and pieces from the early days, well aware she had no way of verifying these and hoping she might let go as soon as she knew he hadn't been raised by wolves or was something like a modern Kaspar Hauser.

"Peter, I get you don't feel comfortable about it but I'd appreciate if you try to fill in some memories of the later years as well."

So he skipped the teen years but offered some stories from his early days as a soldier. The sense of belonging, the comradeship, the purpose. She nodded knowingly, of course she'd heard it many times before, for a psychologist in one of the major veterans' programs that went without saying.

"Thank you, Peter. I know it's hard to open up, especially after all those years when your job required exactly the opposite, but what about the recent years? Most of your flashbacks deal with scenarios and memories from the last more or less six years", she opened his file, it was rather thick, even if he was pretty sure that the original probably had even more entries, some of them discretly removed by the agebcy, "wanna tell me about these? How about we start with Carrie? We never spoke about her."

_So here we go. She waited five weeks, I have to give her credit for that._

"No, we didn't."

"Maybe we should start that now. Do you still see her?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him and waited. He knew the game, had played it many times himself, so old but still one of the most successful interrogation techniques.

"Fine...I don't have many people. Kind of comes with the life I led. And she helped me a lot with my recovery."

"Are you grateful? Or does needing her help make you angry?"

"Uhm, maybe both of it?"

"Peter, you know relationships with others are very important for trauma survivors. Social support is one of the best things to protect against getting PTSD. Relationships can offset feelings of being alone. A relationship or friendship can also give you a way to help someone else. Which is important to you, per what you said earlier. Did you ever talk with Carrie about Berlin?"

"Once. Maybe twice."

"How was that?"

"She cried."

"And you? How did you feel?"

"Dunno..."

"I want you to try, Peter."

"Sorry. Guilty."

"Anything else?"

"It meant a lot that I wasn't alone, that last moment", he blurted out, "that's what I told her."

She gave him a long quizzical stare and just when he was confident she'd ask another question, she closed his file.

"Thank you, Peter, I know it is hard to talk about it. But we're making progress. I've got a homework for you. For our next session I want you to write down three happy memories from the last six years."

"Right."

"And one more word about Carrie: Trauma survivors with PTSD often have trouble with relationships or friendships. Problems with trust, closeness, communication, and problem solving are normal symptoms. These problems affect the way you act with others. In turn, the way others respond to you affects you. A circular pattern can develop that may sometimes harm relationships irreversibly. Whereas sharing some of your emotions can be helpful, even if you don't feel it might, but for Carrie it might be helpful to know a bit more about your emotions. She probably would like to help you."

\------------------

He took a cab back to Brooklyn. He'd preferred a walk but that would've meant to arrive at the meeting point already exhausted so it had to be a cab.

He saw her coming out of the building but her professor friend was with her, talking to her. It was a gray, cloudy day and so he'd even chosen the warmer jacket she'd got for him, realizing subconsciously that he really wanted their gathering to be okay. What Max had said about Carrie giving up on him had somehow hit a nerve he hadn't known he still had. But he surely wouldn't be willing to go for a walk with Mr Professor over there.

Carrie had seen him, of course she had, and crossed Washington Avenue while the guy was still talking to her. He could read some of what he said from his lips, something about what Elisabeth thinks about it, without defining the "it", and Carrie being rather short, with her mind already elsewhere, he knew that Carrie well, from Islamabad, that she didn't know and wouldn't try to find out. And then the guy asking if she wanted to discuss it further over lunch or dinner and then Carrie saying, she already had plans for both and she would see him soon. Good.

The guy walked down Washington Ave towards Eastern Parkway and Carrie came over to his bench and gave him a once over when he got up. He had tried jeans instead of sweatpants, a pair with a zipper and just one button and with some twiddling had been able to close and open the button, so there shouldn't be any accidents. He'd felt good all morning but now it felt a bit ridiculous, like a too transparent offer to get around a real chewing out, _look, I'm a good boy and dressed nicely, with real pants and the jacket you gave me._

But she just gave him a small smile and didn't comment.

_No hug today._

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. Did you wait for long?"

"Just arrived."

"Good."

There was a moment of awkwardness but then she visually took a deep breath and suggested to walk a few steps.

Even Quinn had to admit that the view of the colourful leaves was stunning, all shades of red, orange and yellow.

"The goal for a Japanese garden is always to offer a four season-interest, through colours and structure. These are Japanese maples, the look pretty boring in summer, but now in autumn their red and gold foliage is just amazingly beautiful. I like the thought, a place which never turns bleak and grey but always offers beauty and comfort, even in deepest winter."

"Sounds pretty."

_And I sound pretty lame._

They were walking slowly, he knew she was letting him set the pace and tried not to give a too pathetic display of his current skill set.

"We missed the cherry blossom when we arrived here last summer. It's in April and May, when we still were... Anyway, my colleagues said it's the most beautiful time of the year."

"Your colleagues? Have many?"

"We are just a small organization. For most cases it's Reza's students who are in charge. Some of them are working pro bono later when they are graduated. So we have ten to twelve students working with us. And Reza of course."

"Of course."

"Office-based and permanently it is just Theresa, she's the office manager, and me."

"And Düring?"

"He funded the existence of the organization for the next three years. And he has connections, useful connections."

"Right. Guess that's important."

"It is. Advocacy for Muslims is not a fast-selling item these days."

"No. Probably not", and then, chosing his words carefully, "so Reza is often working with the foundation?", keeping it casual and about the foundation and not about her.

"He is. Since nearly a decade. We couldn't afford doing what we do without him bringing in his expertise and his students working on the cases. Usually he's around two ot sometimes three days a week. With me being so involved with Elisatbeth these days he's been around nearly everyday recently."

"Are you working a lot for, ehm, Elisabeth?"

"Quinn? You did notice that she was elected as the next president a bit more than a week ago?"

"I, uhm, yes, of course."

_Holy fuck, missing the election._

He wasn't watching the news not reading a newspaper. He saw the headlines and he certainly had seen this headline, he remembered Max mentioning it, he even remembered  
Max talking about the job offer Carrie got, he recalled Dar ranting about Keane's take on early conflict intervention - but somehow all of this hadn't registered. Which was shocking. He really was out if his game.

"Do you want to sit down for a moment?"

Without noticing he'd slowed down to nearly standing and Carrie pointed to a covered bench next to a small stone stair.

"There's a Shinto shrine up there. And a bit further down that path are the fall-blooming camellias. They're beautiful too."

"You come here often?"

"I usually go for a walk during my break if I don't have a business lunch. Which I unfortunately have most days now. And I really try to finish my days early enough to spend time with Frannie and...", she didn't finish the sentence and he couldn't blame her. He knew he'd just been buying time with asking her all those questions. As if it wasn't telling enough that he'd never asked her anything about her work ever before.

"Me."

"Yes. You."

"Listen, Carrie, I..."

"Quinn, no, please, not today. Can we just pretend this being a normal walk of normal people having a normal  
conversation? I just need a normal afternoon. I can't...two days ago...that knocked me over too. I need a break, Quinn. You never asked me anything about me or my work or Frannie. And today you did and I just realize how much I missed that. So can we just pretend this is who we are? Just for today? Cos I really need a break."

He contemplated her monologue for a while, while observing a spider in its web just below the little roof of the bench and wondered why he'd never considered how she felt since they had arrived in New York or even before.

"Sure. Just one thing...", he had to say it or would probably never say it, "please know I'm grateful. I know I'd been fucked without you."

He didn't look at her though which was a good thing she thought because suddenly it was all too much.

So she retreated back on safer ground.

"You know", although he heard her voice being unstable, "Reza's family is from Iran. But they left before things got really bad."

"Javadi's still in play there?"

"It's not that I still have access to that kind of information."

"Right. You're out."

"I am. And still I met Dar and Saul and will meet them again in two weeks, with Elisabeth. I guess Dar feels about me like the hare and the hedgehog."

That made him chuckle.

"You know that's how I sometimes feel about Max."

And for a moment things were light, just a few precious seconds where they both shared a small smile full of appreciation for their silent, loyal and faithful friend.  
  
And it was that moment which made Carrie reach into her purse and pull out a wrapped parcel.

"Happy Birthday, Quinn."

"Oh. Right. I..."

"Already yesterday. And I'm really sorry I wasn't there. The two jobs and the election sometimes are just..."

"Carrie, no. I didn't even think about it. It's okay."

He honestly hadn't thought about it. Whereas she had thought about it all day and had been sure the significance of the day had been one of the reasons for him to avoid her all day. So she hadn't mentioned it, neither in her text nor when they spoke at night. For the last three years she'd always lit a candle that day in her Berlin church, silently praying that he was alive and doing somehow okay. So last night she'd try to convince  herself how much better this year was - she knew he was alive and in the same town, with people around him who tried to help him.

"It's not a real present. I mean...it is a birthday present...but not....I thought you should have it. I'm not good at it. I only started in May. In hospital", and suddenly she had to say it all, "I couldn't concentrate on reading but I had to do something. The days for long", _and the nights even longer,_ "so I started it. There are a lot of lumps in the beginning. But with more practise I got a bit better. And then it started to look like what it could be. You don't have to wear it, of course. But I thought you should have it and know...", her voice trailed off as he unwrapped the present, thinking that it was a classic Carrie, all that babbling before he even knew what it was, glad that his hands were for once willing to cooperate.

It was a bunch of knitted wool and when he unfolded it, it looked like a long scarf. Indeed with some lumps and some lost loops in the beginning but then it got more even. Different shades of blue, grey, some black, and a few rows of red.

"I was out of blue then. And it was just before we were able to transport you over here so..."

_So there was hope._

He felt his hands clenching into the soft wool and knew that it probably was his turn now to say something but he choked on words and didn't trust his voice.

_And know I was there all the way. That was what she had been going to say._

"Thank you, Carrie", was what he managed to expel.

And it was enough.

They sat for a while longer until she said she had to go back to the office.

"Do you mind if I sit here a while longer?"

She knew he was avoiding more time together, probably might need a longer break before walking back, and for once she decided to just let him.

"No, just stay. Sure you'll find the way back?"

At once again things were lighter for a second, when he gave her an indignant glance at the proposition he might get lost in a public park and she laughed it off saying she really needed to hurry now.

Light enough to say "Carrie, I need some rest now. I won't come to the playground today", and when seeing her face clouding again, in a desperate attempt to make things better again, "but I could call you tonight? So you know I made it home?"

And it worked. She smiled and said "Bye, Quinn" and he saw her hair for quite a long time through the leaves when she briskly walked back.

It was a while later when he got up, put the scarf around his neck and slowly walked towards the southern exit of the park.

For a brief moment he thought he saw Reza at the metro station but that wasn't possible as he had walked eastbound just about an hour ago. Well, there certainly lived more than one mid-forty exil Iranian in the city, and certainly more than one was wearing a blue suit today.

\-------------------

Quinn slept nearly all afternoon but managed to give her a short call at an acceptable time, half past eight wasn't too late and probably after Frannie's bedtime. They just talked briefly, and yet it felt 'normal' in a good sense.

When he got a glass of water Max was watching the news and he joined him, thinking it was really time to catch up with what was going on around him. But it was as depressing as ever. A lot about the new president, the old one being a lame duck now, Aleppo still closed in, civilians suffering and dying like flies at the wall, and again some causes for leeriness about the Iranian nuclear deal.

_Well, nothing has changed in those six months._

"You spoke to Carrie today?"

"I did."

"Good."

"Yeah."

\---------------------------

Carrie came to pick up Max the next day. Of course they could've met outside, ice skating with Frannie was the plan, but he knew she was checking on him.

After yesterday's being a relatively good day, probably the best in ages, he was back to being restless and feeling an undefined anger today. He'd tried to make his homework in the morning but that hadn't been a mood booster at all. Well, it was still some time until Monday. So he just lingered on the couch watching some trash TV when he heard Carrie's and Frannie's voices, the girl chatting excitedly, and Max' deeper voice answering.

_Uncle Max. God._

Of course Carrie came in and why wouldn't she. It wasn't her fault that he was in a foul mood. He heard the front door clapping, so Max and the little one had already left.

"Morning."

"Hey."

"Wanna come along? Another walk?"

"No", and then realizing it came a bit to harsh, "I'm very tired today. So I'll just stay here."

That was better, her expression visibly softened, which didn't make his mood better, because he hated getting the careful treatment.

_God, I'm really crabby today._

"Okay then. There's something I wanted to tell you yesterday. Can I maybe get a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

He finally got up, _maybe it was a good idea to prepare the coffee and not to expect her doing it._

She got off her coat and sat at the kitchen counter, both indicators she was planning a longer chat - and he wasn't up for that at all.

"So", placing a normal cup in front of her and his double handle cup in front of himself, "what is it?"

"I hadn't intended to but as it might be the last chance for a break til January I'll decided to go and see my sister for Thanksgiving."

"Right."

"It's next Thursday."

"I know. It's not that I live on the moon."

"Sorry. We'll leave Monday."

_So soon?_

"Okay."

He wondered why she was nervous and fidgety and her tapping fingers on the counter's surface jangled on his nerves.

"I was wondering...you could come along if you want to."

"Carrie...I...", there was no way how he could do this and she should know by now, "I don't think it's a good idea. And you know it. But thanks for asking."

At least that he could offer, he really was trying to make an effort to be more appreciative. Not really his usual repertoire, but desperate times require desperate measures - and it seemed to work.

"You know what they say, nobody stays alone for Thanksgiving."

"And you know those days don't mean anything to me."

"Quinn..."

"But you should go. Take a break, see your sister", he tried to remember if her sister had kids, "and your nieces. Frannie might like it."

"She's the main reason to go. Coming here has been tough for her."

"Yeah."

He absolutely didn't feel like discussing Carrie's reasons for moving to New York now, the only thing he wanted to do was crashing on the couch again.

"Well. I'll have to work tomorrow as I need a few days off and have to finish some stuff before. Max promised to step in as babysitter. So..."

"So, I'll see you next week then."

"We'll be back Sunday."

"Good. Have fun."

"I could call you."

"Sunday? When you're back?"

"No. Yes. That too. But inbetween, that's what I meant."

"Yeah. You could do that."

_God, asshole, a few heartfelt words, can't be that hard. Max will kill you if she shows up for ice skating and is sad._

"I mean, if you have time. You haven't seen your sister quite a while so it's okay if you're busy. I'll manage a few days."

"No, it's fine. I'll call. And you can call too if you want too."

"Yeah."

"Quinn", it was the first time she made direct eyecontact, "I really need a break. Not from you. You still can come with us. You don't have to stay at my sister's house. There's a nice place down the road, a small hotel, right next to the park. You don't even have to see my family but a change might do you good too. We could meet or not meet. But I need a break from the city and Elisabeth and have to think about certain things."

"It's okay, Carrie, as I said, those days aren't of any significance to me. You going now? I'll have a nap, I'm tired."

This time she didn't let him off the hook without a hug. He knew it when she got up and rounded the counter. It was their signature hug, he was towering stiffly above her whereas she tried to make it not too long. This time it was even more awkward because he tried to get up but wasn't fast enough.

"Bye."

"Bye."

And then, already detaching "Take care, Quinn, will you?"

\-----------------------

Sunday came and he went for a walk. The autumn-blooming camellias at the Japanese park were certainly worth a visit. It was cold, so he was wearing his scarf, well aware of Max' glance when he left the appartment.

He was even considering to wait if Carrie might go for a walk at noon and to join her but when she came out of the building that Reza guy was with her, again. They were talking and she was laughing and so he didn't make himself seen.

When he came home he found Max and the girl - Frannie - watching Cinderella and eating popcorn.

"Hi Quinn. Don't tell mommy. We already watched Snow White and Dumbo. You can sit and watch too."

"Uhm, no, maybe not. Have fun."

"We have, right, Uncle Max?"

He was sleeping when Carrie picked up her daughter, subconciously hearing her voice but thinking it was a dream. A nice change from the usual array of nightmares.

When he came out of his room in the evening, wondering if he'd be able to sleep at night now, he found Max in the kitchen, stirring in a pot.

"You cooked?"

"People do that. Sometimes."

"I heard about it. Didn't take you for the type though. KFC closed tonight?"

"Says our resident gourmet. Actually, I guess I have to thank you for this. It's", he checked an empty container, "pumpkin-carrot-soup with ginger. Carrie left about ten of these containers and some pasta dishes. I guess they were meant to be for you but I also guessed you wouldn't mind sharing. Or do you?"

"No. Be my guest. Ginger soup. Great."

"Pumpkin-carrot. With ginger. It's a spice."

"Is it? Really?"

"You are making a joke, aren't you?"

"Well, apparently not that successful if you have to ask. How were your movies?"

"Good. We had fun."

"Good."

There was even fresh bread which was a nice change.

After dinner he sat down again to make his homework and finally had three, maybe even four memories.

It would have been a good day if he hadn't dreamt of Homs that night.

\-------------------

"Did you do your homework, Peter?"

"I did. Even four."

"Do you want to talk about your memories?"

"Do I have to?"

"No, right now you don't have to, unless you want to. But I want you to mark the events in your timeline."

_Carrie coming out alive after Nazir had held her hostage._

_Carrie being okay after Javadi had her on my watch._

_  
Meeting Carrie outside the church after her father's funeral. Well, not exactly meeting, but embracing her._ That had been the toughest one. He hadn't revisited that for years. But it had been the best moment in those six years. He had thought about it as long as he could without getting...lost.

_Sitting with Carrie in the japanese garden and just talking. Like we were friends. No baggage, just...friends._

"And now I want you to choose one of your memories and hold that picture in your mind. Can you do that?"

"Sure."

"We'll try the flooding again. I'll talk you through the other incidents and you try to hold on to your happy place. Focus on your breathing and your coping techniques. We can stop any time."

Afterwards the shrink said it was a success because he panicked much later than he had before. Talking about low standards.

It was with him all day. And all night as soon as he closed his eyes. He didn't sleep much but when exhaustion overcame him it was bad. He missed Carrie's call and didn't call her back.

So Tuesday was the worst day since his playground performance last Wednesday. He was drifting, he felt woozy right in the morning and it got worse til noon. Being inside didn't work well so he went for a walk.

Two hours later he came round at Justine's place. She had time. Weekday's early afternoons weren't exactly peak time in her business. She didn't even ask where he'd been the last two weeks and didn't comment on his angry brooding mood. Afterwards he could sleep and felt even worse when he woke up. She sat in a chair next to the window, reading.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay your time."

"You'll have to anyway. Otherwise I'll be in trouble and you too."

"Wanna go somewhere and grab a bite? I'll pay that time too of course", he hurried saying.

"You know evenings are more expansive."

"I said I'll pay."

"Let me check my appointments",  
and off she was.

He walked her back after dinner and she linked her arm with his, looking up to him.

"That's a nice scarf. Someone made that for you? That must have been a hell of work."

And just like that she made it real. This wasn't another universe. It was real. Justine was real. He'd just spent another day with a prostitute, not just for sex, he'd even paid her to have dinner with him in a shabby spanish-american diner with him. Carrie was real. Carrie who had knitted a scarf for him while sitting next to his comatose self for weeks. Carrie who had filled the fridge. Carrie who probably wondered why he hadn't called her back. All this was real.

He nearly threw up from self-disgust.

When they were at Mr Wedges - he'd never met a Mr Wedges and had always found the name odd but what was a good name for a whorehouse? - he had make his decision.

"Listen, Justine, thank you. I won't come back."

"That's what they all say in the beginning."

"Yeah. But I won't."

He paid and she kissed him on his cheek.

"Take care, Peter."

"You too."

He took the metro but had to leave it in Williamsburg, desperatly needing some fresh air so he walked the rest of the way.

Carrie didn't call that night so he sent her a text, saying "I hope you're having a good time."

Max left the living room when he came in, after a snorted "Sandalwood? Again? Really, Quinn? Really?"

He wondered how Max knew.

When he went to bed he had a missed call and a text from Carrie.

"Thanks, it's great to be home. Hope you're ok too. My sister says hello. Talk to you soon and good night."

That night was even worse, it was already early morning when he finally fell into a light sleep.

\-----------------------

Adal paid him a visit a few hours later. He said in the kitchen when Quinn got up and shuffled in. He managed not to jump out of his skin.

"There's a door bell."

"There is someone called Max knowing how to use a door opener."

"Right. What do you want?"

"I thought we'd go for breakfast, you and I."

"I've therapy at eleven."

"It's before eight. Have a shower and get dressed. I assume you are having showers these days?"

"Not when Max is not at home."

It was worth Adal's affected glance, it really was.

"He has to switch on the water."

"Ah. Well, I can do that."

"After you", and a mock invitating gesture towards the bathroom. _Could a day start worse?_

Adal had a car with a driver waiting outside and took him to an italian deli where he ordered ridiculous loads of food.

Quinn waited. This breakfast was no courtesy and eventually the old devil would speak up.

And he did. Just before his first sip of coffee after carefully balancing his cup with out collateral damage towards his mouth.

The older man placed a manilla envelope on the table.

"Have a look, please."

Quinn gulped his coffee and carefully places his cup back on the saucer.

"Can you open it, please? Unless you've time til lunch."

When Dar emptied the contents of the envelope on the table, right next to the plate with italian prosciutto and fennel salami, Quinn immediatly hoped he hadn't asked him to. Six enlarged photos, razor-sharp in quality and contrasts, high-resolution camera, it was the CIA after all, showing him and Justine.

"Explain yourself, Peter."

"Why would I? That's none of your business."

Dar buttered a piece of bread, took his time to decide for a cold cut, went for prosciutto, cut the bread in pieces and placed the plate in front of Quinn.

"You really think so, Peter?"

Quinn didn't answer, knowing all to well what was coming. And yet got caught by surprise.

"How do you think would Mathison feel about those photos? She's at her sister's, isn't she? I could have them delivered in time for Thanksgiving."

He tried a Hail Mary.

"That's none of your business and she'd show you the door in no time. Maybe you forgot about Haqqani. She didn't. Neither did I."

"Peter. You disappoint me. That was three years ago. You know what three years are in our business. An eternity."

"Not Haqqani."

_Whatever would distract Adal was helpful._

"Haqanni go what he deserved. After helping us to get al Baghdadi. He hated those ISIS guys. So his last conquest was a pleasure for him."

"Carrie has no way of knowing."

"Believe me, she knows."

"Why don't I know?"

"Cause you were playing flight risk. And that's a state secret. Not quite a match, if you ask me."

With that, Adal leant back and bit into a piece of almond pastry, making a pleasant grunt. Some powdersugar snowed down on his turtleneck.

"Back to the real reason for our joyful meeting here, Peter, although having breakfast with you is always a pleasure. Don't interrupt me, will you do me that favour? I've been patient. I've been compassionate. I still am. I know you finally joined a trauma program which I appreciate. I hear you cooperate, reluctantly but you cooperate. I see the band with Mathison is still intact and I admire her for not bailing out. Cause you know she's not helping you as a colleague. You know that, Peter. And this," tipping on one of the photos, "is ridiculous. It's a fucking cliché. It's dangerous. And absolutely unnecessary. And it has to stop, unless you want me to bring you to a safe place today. I warned you before. Although I liked the part where you took her out for dinner. Very Pretty Woman-ish."

"You were there yourself?"

"Rob. The group always dealt with its own problems."

"Only eyes or ears too?"

"Eyes only. We're no creeps", with an indignant glance, "but of course he heard what you spoke outside."

"Of course."

"More coffee?"

"No. I guess I'm done."

"Your choice. I take one of those heavenly cappuccinos."

"Would you believe me if I said it was the last time?"

"I would believe _you_. Sadly I feel you're not quite _yourself_ these days."

"I'm trying. I really am."

"I know, Peter. And I know it's hard. Harder than anything you did before. What I don't get is why you deny yourself what you wanted for quite some time all those years ago."

"Which is?"

"Cut the crap. I read the letter. And I was there, in the Brody- and Javadi-days. And after Islamabad."

"Right."

"And now she is there."

"But I am not."

"See, that's what I don't believe. Assassinating fellow ex-agents is generally frowned upon but we would've found a way to deal with that. If had reached out to me",  
and then after a beat, "without murdering her. Of course without. But you chose not to take the slightest risk. You didn't even mention her when we met in Berlin. Which makes me believe you wanted to protect her at every cost. You never took the letter back. You never had her erased as beneficiary from your file. You started therapy only after she insisted and threw a fit to get you into that program right away the next day, by the way. You see her every day. And you lose it the first day she's out of town. So, tell me again, who's not there? More coffee now?"

"Yes."

They ate in silence, with Dar making sure Quinn's plate was always filled. He just waited, knowing the younger one would talk sooner or later. Dar Adal could be a very patient man. Especially when it was about Peter Quinn.

"You know what they call people like me these days?"

"Veterans? Mid-life crisis?"

"NEETs."

"Because of your Narrative Exposure Therapy? That's what it was called, huh? Mathison said it's best."

"That's NET. I'm talking about NEET. No education, employment and training. Resonates perfectly well with needy. Think Carrie might like that offer?"

"So you're indulging in play on words these days? That's part of your therapy?"

"No. I'm serious."

"So am I. God, Peter, get your shit together. You're not the first and not the last one there. There's a reason why such programs exist. Because there are more people like you. They may fight other memories, they may be allowed to talk with more people about it, but they feel exactly as miserable as you. And they fight it and they survive it. Most of them at least. They have wives and girlfriends and kids and their life has a before and an after. And I'm not saying it's easy and I'm not saying the after will be similar to the before but what it's gonna be depends on you. On you alone. Stay with us or leave for good. Find a new career, change speciality within the agency or sue us to pay you the biggest compensation in CIA's history. Try to build a life with or without Carrie. But start being responsible."

Quinn didn't answer. _What was there left to say?_

Dar dropped him at his shrink and he wondered when he'd see him again.

Today's schedule was another round of flooding again, to further enhance his recent success with that technique.

He resisted nearly twelve minutes til breakdown.

When he came home there was no sign of Max and he slept six hours straight. Only afterwards it dawned him that Max probably had left town for Thanksgiving as well.

Carrie called at ten.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you?"

"Okay. Therapy was...tough today."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Uhm, no."

"Alright then."

"It would bring it all up again. That's why." Suddenly it was important that she knew it was not because he didn't wanna tell her.

"Well, if you ever would _want_ to..."

"I know. Thank you."

It took him a while to realize that he never had considered telling her before.

"How is it, back home?"

"We have snow. Frannie's excited."

"I bet."

"New York will get snow tomorrow too."

"I'll stay home all day. Do you happen to know where Max is?"

"With Virgil."

"Oh. Right."

"Quinn? Are you really okay? You still could come here."

"I'm okay. Good night, Carrie. Enjoy your time with your family."

"Good night, Quinn."

"Bye."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Laure and Zeffy for being as supportive as ever for this story.
> 
> Thanks to Leblanc and Acat for being food consultants.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who took the time to comment on the recent chapters - I appreciate each and every comment you make and it's what made that story for longer than the oneshot it once was.
> 
> FWIW, I even googled reviews for strip clubs around Hunt's Point, NYC. And very quickly closed the page again b/c the first three lines made my eyes bleed. But the club exists irl, has 4.7 out of 5 stars and the shabby restaurant is right around the corner, named Randall's, specialized on huevos rancheros and sandwiches.
> 
> It was much more fun to browse through the pictures of the Japanese Garden and the menu of the Italian Deli, named Caputo's Fine Foods.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving. Quinn is in NYC and Carrie back home. Is she really?

It was good to be home.

It was easier to relax at home, in Maggie's busy household, no clients calling, no Elisabeth asking for attention at unruly hours, being away from the hustle and bustle of the dirty city.

Frannie and her cousins had a lovely reunion and it stung to see how happy Frannie was to be back here. She still had her room upstairs and Maggie had put some of the girls' old toys inside, a doll, a few boardgames and books and the dolls' house Frank had made for his daughters. Ruby and Josie weren't playing with it anymore and so it was Frannie's turn now, she would be allowed to take it back to New York.

The garden was already covered with a thin layer of snow and the first night brought more snow.

Carrie saw her psych the first day although she was stable now since Berlin she was afraid that this could change any time. She was seeing someone in NYC and the family support group she visited helped too but she wanted to talk with Dr Velkers who knew her for more than a decade now.

That and of course Maggie. Even with speaking on phone every couple of days there were a lot of recent developments she hadn't told Maggie yet. And she barely ever spoke about Quinn.

The days passed quickly and Quinn sent a text and Wednesday night they even talked briefly, most important felt that he had called her. She knew that he should reach a turning point in therapy soon, all the approaches of the program were aiming for making his memories more bearable for him, to help him to categorize and store them as past and to be able to reconnect with his feelings, good and bad ones. She'd seen glimpses of him, especially that day in the park and it had felt so good. And yet she was afraid what the future might bring. For him, for her, for them, if there would be a "we". Sometimes she wondered if he was broken beyond a point of return. Even after therapy about 20% of the veterans still struggled and suicide, drug abuse and psychological problems were not just a sad exception.

When she dreamt of him she saw him at the bottom of the gas chamber. Or in hospital, right before the stroke, searching her, the panic in his eyes. It was rare that she saw fragments of the past but it happened. Quinn shouting at her in the Islamabad ops room, Quinn in a car with her in the passenger seat, handing her a cup of coffee, Quinn giving her a small smile in the office. The days she had been dreaming about their kiss were long gone. But every now and then she dreamt about being with him now, in the present. The much more vulnerable and careful man he was now, edgy and volatile, and still so much Quinn. There were days when she hugged him and wanted to convey he was not alone, she'd always be there for him, as friend or partner and that it was his choice. And there were days when she was so desperatly hoping for him to respond in the same way, to hold her for a second or longer, so that she could lean into him and feel loved, just for a second. Sex was rare in her dreams. Not because she didn't desire him. She did.

In the beginning she hadn't been sure if there might be physical obstacles too. But then he'd started to see the prostitutes and probably not just for playing boardgames - and that hurt like hell. But again, she couldn't even blame him because there was so much left unspoken and she kind of understood how much he was probably longing for easy uncomplicated relationships. But it still hurt each and every time when she smelt the faint sandalwood scent he carried then. She wondered if he knew she knew and if he would mind her to know.

So even at her sister's house she ended her days with a good cry in bed.

He sounded lost and lonely Wednesday night and it was strange that Max hadn't told him he'd be gone for Thanksgiving too. But everybody went to see family for Thanksgiving, so for Max that probably went without saying. Just Quinn apparently had never had a lot of family-centered holdidays.

\---------------------

Thursday came and after a carefully planned and executed operation named "taking a shower alone"  
\- a can opener had been a very helpful extension of his hand - Quinn decided to have Carrie's pasta and chicken for late breakfast and then to go for a walk. Not coming anywhere near Hunt's Point just Brooklyn. But maybe it was a good day for a haircut.

When he came out of the barber's shop the streets were surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon. But then he realized how it made sense: It was Thanksgiving after all.

He had lied to Carrie. There had been a time in his life when those days had had a meaning.

Although his family hadn't had many members there had been years with parents and a sister, just a few years, but good years. Thanksgiving had been laughter, food, lots of food, games, a chimney fire, snow, playing with the neighbor's kids. Good stuff. He hadn't thought about it for years but now he couldn't stop. And a memorable one at Bagram Airbase in Afghanistan, many years later, in his first year with the group. Adal had been there too and Bagram being the home of 7.000 US troops made it a city with all kinds of amenities, they even had turkey and gravy that night. As Bagram was located in the foothills of Hindukush it had been a cold night, about zero degrees Fahrenheit and the stars had been amazing. They just had successfully completed a mission, with no casualties on their side, so it had been a night to remember. He remembered how he had thought he had found a place where he belonged and could do the right things, with people who meant something to him, Rob among them too.

But why should he tell Carrie any of these stories from a long gone past? He wanted her to go and see her family.

Being alone at home now probably wasn't a great idea so he'd just keep walking, watching the last people hurrying home, a lot of windows were dark, their inhabitants had left the city to see family but a lot of the larger brownstones had light and life behind their windows, he saw people in the kitchen, sometimes just one woman, busy to prepare food for probably eight or ten other people, sometimes a bunch of people with a bottle of wine and flushed cheeks.  
He saw turkeys and wondered if there still was a living and kicking turkey to be found within a hundred miles.

He hoped Carrie was having a happy day. He wouldn't call her today, but maybe send a text later. Maybe she would answer before she went to bed.

He arrived at the playground, the one close to her house. And why shouldn't he sit down here for a while, he was nowhere expected today, nobody would miss him if he took a break. Even Said's cornerstore was closed now. He briefly thought he noticed a light in one of Carrie's windows but when he looked up he had to briefly smile despite himself, that was a delusion, she wasn't here. That had been someone else's window.

It started snowing, and he remembered Carrie mentioning the snow. But he didn't bother. This place was as good as any place.

\---------------------

Carrie made it til lunch. She'd helped Maggie preparing the food since early morning and had played Trivial Pursuit with her nieces like her father always had with her and Maggie all those years before. They had decided to have an abundant lunch so Frannie could be part of it too. But when Maggie was straining the gravy through the sieve and Carrie was cutting the polenta - which had been added to the menu as a favour for Ruby - in rhombs she suddenly knew what she had to do.

"Mags, I'm sorry. But I have to go back to New York."

"And why would you need to do that?"

Maggie wasn't looking at her, she was just working her gravy with a spoon.

"Quinn. He's all alone today. And nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving. And certainly not Quinn, not this year, not after...I shouldn't have left him alone in the first place."

"Carrie..."

"No, Maggie, I should be there. It was wrong to ask him to come here, I knew this was out of his scope, and that he said 'no' didn't mean it was okay to leave him alone. I'm sure and made a decision. I have to go."

"Carrie, you just arrived a few days ago. Give yourself a break."

"No. I'll leave after lunch. Please, Maggie, he's...all alone...and I won't let that happen. Remember what Dad always said?"

"Nobody stays alone on Thanksgiving", and then with a sigh and a smile, "but Frannie stays here."

Carrie hugged her sister suddenly feeling much lighter as before.

"Thank you, Maggie, you are the best."

Maggie looked at her, wondering if her sister had an idea how much she hoped Quinn would see and accept what he was for her. She would never forget the video from Berlin and her skype call with Carrie the next day.

Carrie left after lunch, saying she would see how things would go and depending on this and the wheather decide whether she'd be back Friday or Saturday.

"You're here when you're here - we won't disturbe you", Maggie replied with a knowing smile which Carrie decided not to see.

\-------------------------

It started snowing when she drove into the city just after six pm.

She drove right away to Max and his place but he wasn't there. She tried to call him but he didn't answer his phone.

But suddenly she had an idea where she might find him. She parked her car in the garage, wondering again if she should finally sell it as she was nearly never using it and paid 350  
Dollars a month to park it, but as long as she hadn't decided whether to follow Elisabeth to Washington or not she might as well just keep it.

She arrived at the playground some minutes later and had been so convinced to be right that she'd hopped in an open Starbucks, surprising the two Baristas with their only order within the last hour, and asked for two tall americanos in venti cups, hoping he would be able to handle without his cup.

And there he was, alone on that bench in the empty playground, watching the snow.

Knowing she was about to tear up she took a moment to steady her breath and calm down before she stepped into his view and closed the distance with a few steps and sat next to him, offering him one of the cups with a silent gesture.

"You shouldn't..."

"It's just coffee", deliberatly misunderstanding him, "next one's on you. Starbucks still doesn't do booze."

"Bethesda has no Starbucks open on Thanksgiving?", his voice wasn't all steady, he knew that well.

"No, imagine there are four but not open on Thanksgiving, even with the app saying one should be open."

"The app?"

"You can even place an order using it and just have to pick it up."

"Great. So you place an order and go there to pick it up but the store is closed and they charge you anyway? That's what I call economy of time."

Carrie dared a short side glance. He was drinking the coffee, carefully bringing the cup up to his mouth with his better hand, surprisingly steady. No woolen hat but the scarf and the warm coat. And he had a hair cut. He looked good.

"You don't need the double handles anymore. Why were you still using them?"

"Because I was avoiding the discussion with you."

But his tone was soft and unaccusing.

They sat and sipped their coffee for a while in silence, not uncomfortable, not at all, before Carrie spoke first.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Quinn."

He considered for a while how to reply, it was all like a movie set on slow motion tonight, but she was here and it felt like the right thing to do. He really wanted it. She was holding her coffee cup in one hand, that's what people did, but he had to put his cup down first, because he needed his right hand now and didn't trust his left hand alone to balance the cup. But finally he had successfully arranged himself and moved his right hand over to cover and gently squeeze her left.

"Thank you, Carrie."

He wondered what he would do if she would jump or pull her hand away or cry, but why would she? But she just tilted her head slightly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze too before he slowly pulled it back and reached for his coffee again.

"You were lying when you said Thanksgiving never had any significance to you, were you?"

He took a deep breathe, she wasn't sure if she'd get an answer but when he talked his voice was calm and steady.

"I was."

"Wanna tell? You don't have to."

"I know."

She just waited, watching the snow slowly covering the ground and the swings and sliders. His hands were resting in his lap now and she tried to recall how it felt to be touched by him. It had been such a brief surprise and yet it still made her heart beating faster when she thought about it.

"They all died when I was eight. I wasn't home that night. I was allowed to sleep over at a friend's house. It was a wooden house. A fire. Nothing was left, nobody made it out alive. They were dead before they had a chance to wake up. Smoke poisoning. Much better as being burnt alive. I had a sister, she was five. Fiona was her name. But before that we had Thanksgiving. Of course we had. It's just more than three decades now so..."

"You think that doesn't count anymore?"

"Dunno. Honestly I hadn't thought about it for quite some time."

"I think it does count. It's those memories which stay with us."

"Think so?"

"My best Thanksgiving memory is when Maggie and I were allowed to stay up for the grown ups' dinner dor the first time. I was six then. We were allowed to have as much icecream as we wanted for dessert."

"Sounds fun."

"Well, the tummy cramps later that night weren't. But sitting on Dad's lap and having icecream was."

"So you missed dinner today."

"I didn't. Well, I did. But we had lunch. So Frannie could join. She's not six yet."

"I...I mean...we could go for dinner...if you're hungry...but if not...or if you wanna go somewhere else...or just a walk..."

He convinced himself it was no big deal but noticed he didn't want her to go home now.

"A walk and dinner. I'd like that. And no, I've nowhere else to go tonight."

The streets were empty and there was more snow now, covering the cars with a thin layer like powder sugar.

"You ever felt like what they say, you know, how snow makes everything more silent?"

"No", she could hear he was preparing a longer answer and wondered what a surprise this night was, "I never felt that way. Snow is actually loud. You've ever been to the mountains? Real mountains? When I joined Adal's group I spent my first winter in the Hindukush. Snow is never silent. It's creaking and crunching and when a avalanche goes off it's really thundering loud, dark vibrations first and then like a thunder rolling downhill. There were nights when I didn't sleep just because the snow was so loud."

"Had you been to the mountains before?"

"I had. As many of the warzones of the late nineties and of course Afghanistan after 9/11 happened to have mountains I had been to the mountains before. Never in the US though. Which is strange, now as I think about it. You do skiing?"

"No. You?"

"God, no."

They were silent for some minutes, walking slowly down Albany Ave and then turning right into Decatur Street.

Carrie decided she wouldn't ask questions, but just let him talk, if this was how he was finally sharing some of his past she'd do it all night although the night got chilly. She buried her hands in her coat's pockets, briefly considering to take his hand, but he seemed to be in his own world.

She dared a side glance. His eyes were focussing on the ground, walking on snow was probably difficult for him but he seemed calm and measured in his movements. She'd gotten so used to watch him when he'd been in coma that she still felt she knew every line, every curve of every bone, and wondered if she'd ever be able to tell him about those first horrible weeks of his coma in Berlin.

"I once lost two guys in the mountains. Good men. Husbands. Fathers. Sons. Friends. We were in Homs. Siege of Homs. It lasted three fucking years, the siege. Although I only came there...2013...so I was just there for less than a year."

Carrie wondered if he registered which timeframe he'd chosen and the grief she felt was nearly unbearable.

"We were seperated from the group for...reasons...six of us. Trying to get into Lebanon via Mount Lebanon mountain range. We had nearly three  
metres of snow and that night even more fell. Some regime's fucknuts were still on our heels, two of us were shot, so we had to get higher to get away from them. Three got altitude-sick. Survived months in Homs and then altitude-sick. We tried to bring them down to lower altitude but it was too late. Two died that following night. For nothing. Coming May Assad's troops took Homs after a three years siege. And we couldn't even bring their bodies home. Just the dog tags. Two lifes, just vanished. And they had to stay up in the mountains. So, no, I don't do skiing. I just happened to have to cross mountain ranges for my work."

He fell silent and Carrie wondered why he'd chosen that memory out of all of his haunting past. _But in the end we have no idea our memory works,_ she thought _, why some stories stay with us and others don't, why our brain chooses to make a connection or not._

"You know, I always knew I'd be in trouble the moment I stop running. That or die before it catches up on me. I thought if I never stopped moving, never stopped going on missions, I could hold it down. Because I never wanted to allow myself to feel again. But it finally caught up with me. And here I am now. I have to dig up stuff I thought I'd packed away forever. To answer questions I never answered. I don't want to do this. But sometimes forward is the only way out. They ask me if I'm suicidal. Yeah, you fight a sad smile", he knew that without looking at her, "cause you know I don't, dunno, shirk, but I've never been so close to a round of russian roulette like during these past weeks. But let me tell you another story, I promise it has a point. The 2nd Battle of Fallujah began on November 8th, 2004. The plan basically called for the entire 1st Division to form a giant line and advance through Fallujah from north to south. The city was overrun with insurgents. My company commander ordered the platoon that I led to establish a forward position. Forty-six of us snuck across a highway at 3 AM to seize a building 150 meters in front of everyone else. It was a candy store. The guys were excited at first because the place was filled with chips and soda. And we were starving and thirsty. But all hell broke loose when the sun came up. RPG’s started slamming into the side of the building. We could see guys in black sneaking up all around us. My platoon sergeant was shot through the helmet and knocked unconscious. Another of our guys got shot in the femoral artery and his blood covered the floors. And we couldn’t get out. Every exit was dialed in with machine gun fire. You couldn’t even poke your head out. We were pinned down all day. And suddenly my company commander is on the radio saying that we’ve got to advance. And I’m shouting into the radio over the gunfire that we're probably going to die if we leave the store. I’m shouting so loud and for so long that I lost my voice for four days. But he’s saying that we have no choice. He’s being pressured by his commanders, all the way up to the generals. And the generals are being pressured by the White House. And all my guys are looking at me because they know if I lose that argument, we're going out there. And I lose the argument. And I tell them that we have to go. But instead of running out the door, we piled a bunch of explosives on the back wall, and we blew it out. And we ran. And everyone survived. Twenty-five guys were wounded, but everyone survived. A lot of that was luck. And a lot of that was our platoon and how good those guys were. But I also feel that my decisions mattered that day. That I made a difference. That sometimes forward is the only way out. That it was my decision which saved some lives that day, including my own. So sometimes I wonder if I can do it once more. Moving forward to find a way out. Or if it's too late."

"For what it's worth, I think you can. I know you can. And I know it's not too late."

"That's worth a lot, Carrie, that's worth a lot."

They'd walked almost to the end of Decatur Street and weren't that far anymore from Max' appartment when they reached a small shop front, decorated with colourful holiday lights around a fretwork Taj Mahal silhouette.

"Indian?", he asked and she wished they could just go back in time and start all over again.

"Sure."

She busied herself with her woolen hat and the snowflakes on her coat, giving him the time to open the door for her. She wouldn't offer him help, not tonight.

They were the only guests, sitting at a small table for two, so small that there knees were touching every now and then.

Apparently the owner knew Quinn and was excited to see him with a guest, as he said with a wink.

They didn't have to order, the owners and the cook were happy to have guests and started to bring food to their table before they had a chance to look at the menue. Carrie had no idea wether the food was really delicious or if she just was so ridiculously happy that she'd eat everything and find it tasty. She didn't even comment on Quinn's beer but had one too.

"You had some time to think, back home?"

"Uhm?"

"You said you need a break and you need to think about a few things.  
Wanna tell? My brains just fine, I guess...but you don't have to."

"Actually I'd like that. A lot."

And they finished the plates and bowls, had samosas, curries, dal, biryani and tandoori chicken, at some point Quinn got up and ordered some fish for her instead of the chicken and two more beers, and she told him about her work at the foundation, about Elisabeth and about the job Elisabeth offered her.

Two or three times he asked a brief question, the rest of the time he just listened while slowly and methodically finishing his plate, inbetween bites looking at her with his usual intense glance. And Carrie thought that this was the best evening she had in a very long time.

"Tell me, why do you wanna work with a small, well, very small foundation, for kind of a lost cause when you can influence the next prasident's politics?"

"It's not a lost cause. Or if it is, it's just because those who could change it avoid taking responsibility."

"You never avoided responsibilty."

"Neither did you."

"But it's not me we're discussing now. I wanted out, Carrie, and I'm out. But you? Want do you want?"

"That's the question. And I don't really know."

"I don't buy that. I think you know but feel afraid to admit."

"What do you mean?"

"You tried to avoid the grand stage for how long now? Three years? And still it caught up on you. Again. The elected president. That's something. Maybe it's time to admit to yourself that you won't quit. Can't quit. That this is your calling, your talent, whatever you wanna label it. Either that - or really quit. Which is fine too. Just being good at something doesn't force you to stay. But not that half-hearted bullshit. Half a job here, half a job there, no decision making."

"So suddenly you are king of advice?"

"No", his voice softened, "I'm not. But I hate seeing you indecisive. I'm not used to that I guess. And I think you deserve allowing yourself making a choice."

"You know what I learnt? I wanna be in a place where the choices I make are aligned with my values."

"That's big."

"For people like us, it is. But the sentence is not from me. A farmer said that in a documentary I saw, he's in transition to organic farming. But I saw him saying that and thought, that's it. That's what I want."

"And you haven't found that yet?"

"I thought I found it. Multiple times, actually. But when I go to the bottom of things...no...don't think so."

  
"So even with the foundation now and with what you are doing with that colleague of yours..."

"Reza?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. It's just...such small steps...we can help maybe forty or fifty people a year. Whereas another politic could help thousands."

"Do you trust Elisabeth Keane?"

"Jeez, Quinn, you are asking the big questions."

"Do you trust her?"

"Trust. That's huge. I mean, how many people did you trust in your career?"

"In my whole career? Quite some. That's how the military works. Within the CIA? Not many."

_But you._

"See? Professionally, I trusted Saul, you know how that ended. And Otto. And you."

_She's never been a coward._

"So not Elizabeth?"

"Trust is a huge word. I wouldn't say I trust Reza or Theresa. And they're nice people. I do trust my sister. And Max. It's not a bad thing not to trust just everybody. I mean, I don't know her well or long yet."

"No, it's absolutely not a bad thing not to trust everybody. Dessert?"

It was a strange moment because she realized it was a first. She and Quinn never had just went out for dinner or even a coffee just for fun. They'd shared endless cups of coffee at work, takeout dinners during surveillance nights, grabbed a bite for lunch in the Langley canteen or on the way to somewhere, but they'd never sat and had a full meal together, just talking and - hopefully - enjoying each others company. And she didn't want that to end.

So she agreed for coffee and dessert, a sticky sweet kind of pastry, deep fried and glazed with sugar, wondering if Quinn would have to roll her out.

Not counting the few times she'd been out with Otto she hadn't had this for years, spending an evening with someone who asked the right questions, challenged her and made her question her own choices and motives. That person being Quinn made her realize how much she'd missed him, and that his knee was touching hers every now and then when he shifted on his chair just added up to that.

They ordered a second cup of coffee and it was already past eleven when they were back on the street.

"C'mon, I'll walk you home."

She considered offering to take a cab or to walk him home, his and Max' place was just around the corner, whereas her appartment was about two miles away but none of it felt right. She wanted him to walk her home, through a snowy winter night in New York.

So they slowly walked back. They didn't talk anymore, most words for that night were spoken. Every now and then she looked up to him and once he caught her glance and she got a small smile.

When they passed the playground again and it was just a few more steps to her place he asked when she was going to get Frannie.

"Haven't decided yet. But we need to be back here on Sunday. Not too late for her bedtime though, so if I don't wanna spend all Sunday driving I've to go there either tomorrow or Sunday."

"Maybe go tomorrow and have a day or two a real break?"

"But..."

"I'll manage, Carrie. Really. But", they'd reached the bottom of the stairs to her door, "thank you for being here today."

And with that he bent down and kissed her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth, and pulled her close. Her arm went around his waist, his arm rested around her shoulder and her cheek was pressed against his chest. She thought she felt his heart beating and didn't want him to let go of her. And he didn't. He held her for a long while and it wasn't uncomfortable and it didn't make him wanna run.

Finally he moved and she detatched, reluctantly.

"Lunch walk on Monday? Or are you busy?"

"No. I'd like that."

"Good night, Carrie."

"Good night, Quinn."

He was already a few steps away when he heard her voice again.

"Quinn? Will you send me a text when you're home?"

"I will. Drive safely. I'll see you on Monday."

"Good night."

Carrie stood on the stairs for quite a while, watching him slowly walking away and feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Acat and Leblanc - imagine having a random question about anything US-related like "Would there be a Starbucks open in Brooklyn?" and receiving an answer five minutes later. No matter what it is, they always have an answer.
> 
> Quinn's Falludjah memories are again from one of the HONY portraits.
> 
> For those of you interested in Q's therapy: All the mentioned approaches are real and major progress can be reached with 2 sessions a week in approx 3-6 months. Which makes it even more that imagening how many veterans still don't search and receive help for PTSD, because it is more or less completely curable or can be at least kept at bay.
> 
> The therapy approches are not exclusive to Veterans, the ENT e.g. is used in post trauma work with refugees, even kids, in Germany too.
> 
> And for those of you who have been wondering: The indian restaurant is real.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest Thank you to Laure and Zeffy!

He sent her a text later that night, saying not much but hoping she'd understand.

"Thank you and good night. I promise to get better."

She wasn't allowed to see it before the next day.

  
\----------------------

He walked home slowly but there was plenty of time now. Still the whole night felt like a movie on slow motion and he recalled his favourite sequences many times. He had considered bringing her upstairs, some minutes more with her, maybe hold her again for a brief hug or another peck, she'd felt good, part of him had wanted to, but it hadn't been right, not like this. She deserved better, she deserved him to be better.

Chances were he'd freaked out the any moment because of too much closeness or fear or she'd asked him in and he'd said 'no' and that wouldn't be right. They had time. She still was there, after so many months, and that was the biggest miracle of all the miracles they tried to make him believe his recovery had been.

But finally being able to reach out to her, not just being at the receiving end but spending a whole evening with her walking and talking, being...being what?...friends maybe...he'd listened and she'd talked and she'd listened to his opinion and he had seen her mind taking in what he had said and working with it. And he'd seen a warmth in her eyes he had had difficulties to register before. But he slowly allowed himself to realize it had been there probably before.

He didn't really dare to think about what she'd done for him tonight. Although he knew he should. Her family was important to her, and since they were in New York she'd made a strict point in never leaving the city and Frannie over night, not even when the nanny or Max would be available. She only did one day business trips, saying her daughter still had to accomodate in her new life. And today she'd left her family and her daughter on Thanksgiving to be with him, had driven all the way back to find him and spent the rest of the day with him.

And holding her, although it just had been a long moment, had felt good.

So he went to bed in a better state as all those months before, there was a glimpse of hope suddenly, it took him a while to name it as it was so unfamiliar, thinking it was a shame Max wasn't here to witness his good mood.

Last thing before he went to bed was sending her the promised text. He typed it fast, hoping she'd understand what he was trying to say.

"Thank you and good night. I promise to get better."

He'd never made a promise to anyone in all his adult life.

She didn't answer. Maybe she was already asleep. Maybe she'd answer in the morning. _She would answer, or wouldn't she?_

\-------------------

Carrie noticed she wasn't alone on her floor right away. It didn't feel right when she stepped out of the elevator. When she unlocked her appartment door she turned her head back towards the stairs, half hoping to see Quinn there. She knew he followed her sometimes. She'd never let him know though, fearing to convey the wrong message.

But it wasn't him, the hallway was empty.

She went inside and put her keys on the small table next to the door, along with her phone and her woolen hat. The feeling still lingered, but she'd never been at home without Frannie here in this apartment and Frannie felt ever-present through the colourful asteroid belt of toys and books which decorated the whole floor.

So Carrie kicked off her boots and hang her coat, heading towards the bathroom then.

She was longing for snuggling under her comforter and considering what the day brought while waiting for Quinn's text message.

She had her hand on the bathroom's door knob when she heard an all too familiar sound, a weapon's decocking lever being released with a metallic click just above her right ear.

Her mind went on overdrive right away. But it was too late. Her phone laid on the table four steps behind her and her gun was securely locked away.

_I'm a fucking civilian now._

Which was a hilarious thought.

She tried to knock the arm holding the weapon, the angle was bad and her attacker certainly knew what he was doing when he pinned her against the bathroom door.

At least Frannie's not here.

"Why did you come here tonight, Carrie?", she heard Reza's voice above her ear.

When getting attacked there's always that moment when the world freezes and perception is reduced to fragments. A voice, a faint scent suddenly so strong, a light, a sound, the knowledge of a mistake snowballing into a desaster.

_He hasn't killed me yet so chances are this is not what he's up to._

"What do you want? Or better who wants what? Who sent you? And take your arm away and let's sit down."

"No."

"That's ridiculous. You know I'm unarmed."

He took the arm away but the second was to short for any kind of self defense then her hands were handcuffed on her back and the weapon back pointing at her temple.

"Go to the study and sit on your chair there. Try anything and you're dead."

Carrie noticed he wasn't wearing gloves, his fingerprints must be all over the place. And she'd recognized him. _Not good. Not at all._

Her study was a mess. All drawers pulled out and emptied and a set of tools on the floor in front of her office safe box. She'd just gotten a new one after the election and Max had installed it himself. Along with a camera and an alarm. The later one had apprently been bypassed or silenced, she saw the cut wire.

"Reza, whatever it is. Nothing has happened so far. I stumbled upon you by accident. We can clean up the mess and you leave."

"You shouldn't come here tonight."

"But people know I'm here."

_Well, at least Quinn and Maggie know. But Maggie thinks I'm with Quinn and won't miss me before Saturday. And Quinn thinks I'm driving back first thing in the morning. That just leaves his text tonight. God, Quinn, it would have been a good night for some stealthy following._

"We won't stay here. Just give me the code to that safe box and we'll leave."

"What do you want, Reza?"

"Tell me how to open that safe box."

"Tell me what you want."

"Carrie", she heard an insecurity in his voice, "you shouldn't even be here tonight...you said you'd be gone all week...", and then regaining a steady voice, tightening the grip at her shoulder, "give me the code and then we'll leave."

"It's 28095723."

He pressed the codes and the box opened with a beeping sound. It was empty.

"Why is it empty?"

Carrie could hear him getting nervous. But still he was behind her, the gun pointing to her temple, so she couldn't see him.

"Because it's brandnew. I just got it installed. Why don't you tell me what you're looking for and then we'll see how we deal with it?"

"The presidential dossiers and CIA briefings about Iran."

_That is an interesting piece of information._

"And why would I have these in my apartment?"

"Because I know you had them. You spoke on phone with Elisabeth about them. Where are they?"

"Reza, you are overestimating my role. I have no, absolutely no access to CIA briefings anymore. Again, nothing happened yet. Let's clean up that mess and forget about it."

"Oh, he warned me you would try to lure me on your side. He said you're good."

"Who said that?"

"Well, if they're not here then you have them in the office. Let's go. I have a car parked at the corner. But I warn you: Try anything and I'll shoot."

"Reza. My God, Reza. Stop that bullshit. You'll never get away with that. You digged up some of my past. So let me tell you with my experience of fifteen years as operative, shooting someone on an open street in a residential street never works without people seeing you. Or CCTV having your image. And even if not, your fingerprints are everywhere here. You and I have a documented connection. Colleagues, family, friends are the first suspects and the first ones to be interrogated. Think, Reza, consider your options."

"You shouldn't be here tonight, Carrie."

Carrie knew he was a mess, trapped in a situation he hadn't thought through. Which was her only chance and a tremendous risk at the same time.

"Reza, those papers aren't in the office too."

They weren't. They were locked in Maggie's safe box in Bethesda. Not the Javadi dossiers though. These were classified as state secrets and and Elisabeth only had access to them in her office. Saul had delivered them personally. Carrie herself hadn't access yet as she still had to make a decision about her future role, and only then the security clearance process would be started again. Elisabeth had mentioned a few things though. Quite a lot actually. Javadi hadn't been as useful as he used to be during the negotiations of the nuclear deal. Nothing too big but it made her mind recalling every second of her conversation with Elisabeth who had asked her for her opinion. _Because Reza's asking for those papers just now was a strange coincident._

But Carrie would rather be damned than telling Reza any of this - neither where the papers were nor the state of affairs around Javadi - as long as she had no idea what was behind the whole play and what was Reza's role in it.

"You're lying. I know you had them in the office. We'll go there now."

He dragged her towards the door.

"Reza, I'll need my boots. And you'll have to untie me, cause people will clearly get suspicious if you drag me along through the snow without shoes but cuffed."

Reza considered her objection for a second.

_He clearly has no idea what he signed up for. And no idea what to do now. Which is good. And dangerous._

Finally, he cuffed her right hand to his wrist so she could get into her boots. She managed to leave the small dinner mints sachet with the restaurant's name and phone number on the floor next to the small table when she closed her boots, so if worse came to worse Quinn would know she'd made it inside her appartment.

_Let's just hope he knows by now that there must be a severe reason if I don't get in touch and is enough of himself to start looking._

She needed her phone but had no chance to pocket it unseen. But that moment a tone indicated an incoming message.

_Quinn. Oh my God, Quinn._

"Reza. We should take my phone. As I said my family, friends, former colleagues, they know I'm here and expect me back soon. If I don't stay in touch they'll look for me."

"Open it", he hold her phone so she could press her index finger onto the button.

_Thank you and good night. I promise to get better._

Carrie said nothing, silently hoping Reza would take her phone along. And registering the message itself, his promise.

"We'll deal with that later. Is it the sarin gas mess ex-agent you're still seeing?"

She had never spoken with him about Quinn and Quinn asking her about whom she trusted came to her mind. And her own answer, how she said she didn't trust Reza. But now it was a valuable piece of information to know that he knew Quinn's name and some of his backstory.

_Apparently he has someone briefing him._

They left the apartment, Reza's scarf hiding their wrists. Carrie briefly considered her options to try to take him out with her left arm or a kick, but being tied so close together gave her a bad angle and he had a gun. Her last glance went to the photo of her and Frannie in the hallway and then down on the floor to the sachet of dinner mints. So far the only clue she could give Quinn, a fucking long shot, depending on him feeling secure enough of her affection that he'd get suspicious if she didn't get in touch.

_If, no, when I see him again I'll tell him everything. No more pretending, no more hiding._

The office was a senseless detour, Carrie had known before, she wasn't keeping anything related to her work with Elizabeth there. It was a crucial moment though because now Reza would realize that he was stuck and had to come up with a plan. Which he clearly hadn't. Carrie knew he wouldn't just let her go, the whole encounter lasting much too long by now to be ended just like this. She couldn't allow fear to trickle in.

She was alone in this.

Reza had cuffed her wrist and ankle around a chair in a painful angle and was frantically searching the contents of her office safe box which just secured clients' court briefings but him being so immersed in his search gave her a chance to fish for a pen which lay at the corner of her desk.

She only could use her left hand but it was enough to scribble a spidery 'Q' and the time, half past one now. If Reza would cast a look on her desk pad he'd just see a note among many, an appointment for any given day.

"What's gonna happen now, Reza?"

"Huh? I have a place. We'll go there. Until you decide to cooperate." He was still browsing through some files.

Carrie carefully tried not to make a sound and jotted 'R's place?' down. Reza was throwing all files back into the safe box and she dared to make a circle around her note and to add the words 'trust' and 'Iran' before she carefully gave the pen a nudge with her finger to make it roll behind the office phone while she pushed back the chair a bit to make a screaching noise.

Reza told her to answer Quinn's message before they left, warning her not to give anything away.

Carrie had her message ready, had pieced it together in her mind on their way here.

_Arrived home safely. Enjoyed dinner. Still lots of snow. My sister's afraid it might be too cold for her japanese cherrytree._

Quinn would get suspicious, knowing she couldn't be back to Bethesda by now. Whereas Reza had no idea Quinn had walked her home tonight or that she'd been with him so he had no way of knowing why that sentences could alert Quinn. And the cherrytrees were opposite her office, giving Quinn a hint where to go. Only risk was Reza wondering why she was sharing her sister's botanical musings with Quinn but she'd decided to take that risk.

_Quinn would remember the Japanese Garden. Or wouldn't he?_

Reza approved the message and she hit the Send-button. Afterwards, Reza switched her phone off and discarded it in a paper bin. Carrie hadn't expected him to be dumb enough to take it along, every low quality crime series featured GPS tracking via phone these days, and yet she felt suddenly very alone, the last life line being cut.

_Now it's all on Quinn. Because until Maggie's missing me I might be dead._

And it was that moment when the truth slowly trickled in - she might not survive this because whoever was handling Reza wouldn't agree in her knowledge of Reza being a traitor. Maggie wouldn't miss her for another 36 hours which was far too long.

\------------------------

She had been to Reza's appartment before. It was in Brooklyn too, they had had a dinner party with all the volunteers there a few weeks ago. She'd left after an hour as she wanted to see Frannie awake. That and stop by Max' place to see Quinn on the way home.

When they drove through the city now she was surprised that they were leaving Brooklyn driving north, almost all the way up to Astoria where they stopped in a neighborhood area south of I278. It was nearly 3am now and yet with all the adrenaline running through her body she felt how she was getting weaker and tired.

Reza brought her into a small apartment in the third floor, clearly not furnitured as a long-term living place, a classic hide-out, anonymous and worn-out furniture, non-descript and uncomfortable. He cuffed her to a heating pipe, again wrist and ankle, but allowed her to use the bathroom - while he was watching, a smug grin on his face, the weapon pointing at her - and gave her a glass of water. She saw him drinking water from the same bottle so it was safe to drink it.

\-------------------------  
Quinn woke up from his usual nightmare shortly after 3am. A Javadi dream. He had't had one of these in a long time. Nearly a nice change over all those war scenes and the gas chamber re-experiences of the last months.

He saw Carrie's message after stumbling back from the bathroom where he'd thrown a Xanax and had waited for it to kick in while sitting on the corner of the tub. So she was home. He would consider the rest in the morning, now he desperatly needed more sleep.

\---------------------

_I need to make him talk. He needs to feel connected to me. That's the only chance I have until Quinn hopefully does the math._

"Why Iran?"

"It's my home country."

"You really feel that way? You spent most of your life here."

"I'm dreaming of an Iran not being in the hand of external forces but regaining its power."

"Reza, for whom arw you spying? Because I'm not sure if you are aware of that. But what you are doing is spying. And will be prosecuted as such. Treason. Espionage. Maybe terrorist action. You and I know what is at stake when they get you. Don't let that happen. There's still a way out."

"Carrie. As I said, why did you come here tonight? I wanted to keep you out of it."

"How can you keep me out of it when you break into my apartment?"

"I would've cleaned up. I was just going to photograph the files and would've put them back. You would have never known."

"Reza, of course I'd noticed it. Sooner or later. So why that risk?"

He wasn't answering but suddenly Carrie knew.

"They promised you to get you out in time, did they? You were preparing to leave the country."

"That's not your business."

"Reza. Let me tell you one thing. There are only very few persons or organisations who can make such promises actually happening", her mind helpfully provided an image of Aayan but she locked it away, "so don't jeopardize all you've ever worked for for a false promise."

She saw his face working.

_Yeah, Reza, those are lonely decisions. I know. I've been there. The line is so fine. And the decisions are so lonely. And you want to talk to me._

And then she saw the urge to talk taking over and winning.

"What if the person I deal with has power?"

_The person. Singular._

"As I said. Don't be misguided. There are not many who can make that happen and can't protect you from legal prosecution. Because, even putting holding me hostage aside, what you are planning is treason, Reza."

"He can. He's in the Iranian Intelligence."

And Carrie felt time was slowing down, seconds were freezing into ice, the back of neck was tingling and she heard Quinn's voice, years back, gravelly and exhausted "And this is just the fucking beginning".

_One of Majid Javadi's men. Wheras Javadi has no idea that Reza helds me hostage and won't be amused should he ever learn about it. Because then he knows his comfortable deal's in danger. Which means he will need Reza to get rid of me. What does Reza know?_

"Your parents fled from Khomeni's Cultural Revolution. How can you turn to people who committed horrible crimes during that time? And many other since then? It's still the same people, Reza, they still have that power. Other names and positions but it's those people."

"All to serve a higher purpose."

"That's what they all say. Each and every terrorist and dictator in the world."

"But it's true. Iran wouldn't be where it is today without decades of mislead intervention of the US. The land of the free", Reza seethed, "we are one of the oldest civilisations of mankind. And we would be better off if countries like the US would have stayed away."

"That's opinionable. But Reza, all this happened decades ago. Long before you and I lived. The coup was 1953, the White Revolution started 1963, the Iranian Revolution 1979, even Ahmadedinejad is history. So what now?"

"You really wanna tell me you stopped trying to influence the Iran? You of all people? I know who you are Carrie. I know what you did."

"What I did?"

Carrie's mind was calm and in overdrive and the same time. Reza could have no way of knowing about her past with Javadi. _Unless, he'd either access to Javadi himself, but why would Javadi give that information away, to a son of regime opponents living in exil, or Javadi was made. But even then, why would Reza have access to that information?_

"C'mon Carrie. Don't play dumb. Cause that's not who you are. You played him. When you still were CIA. Just you never told me you are CIA."

"Cause I'm not with the agency anymore. I left years ago."

"But you still meet with high rank officials."

"A coincident. Comes with my acquaintance with Elisabeth Keane."

"Just that it's two of the highest ranked officials cladestine operations has."

"Well, she is the future president."

"Mahjid Javadi is my uncle. I know who you are."

_Javadi. Jesus Fucking Christ. Just keep breathing. It's just Reza. You're not in Tehran. You're not pregnant. You're not on Long Hill Road in Bethesda, it's just Reza._

"Javadi is your uncle."

"Yes."

"So you're parents risked their lives to flee from their country where your uncle probably had his revolutionary guards on their heels and after you've lived here a peaceful, safe and happy life for more than three decades...after all that you team up with your uncle", she nearly spat the last word, "why, Reza, tell me why?"

"I told you. My country - and many other countries - would be other countries today without the intervention of the US. Which never was for the greater good or the purpose of development. It was always US-centred. It still is. Look at the recent wars. Afghanistan. Syria. And for my country, it's time to get its greatness back. I can be part of that, Carrie. I think you of all people understand me", his eyes were having an unhealthy glint now, "You are the same. We keep telling ourselves that we make a difference with our work for the foundation. If we're good we have forty to fifty clients a year. So we help maybe 50 people. Make it 250 if you count their closest families. But if my uncle is back in power I can be part of something bigger. For the Iranian people. I'm no longer the sucessfully integrated poster child of the Iranian diaspora who gets his head padded by people like you, an alibi friend from another culture, carefully selected among educated immigrants, I'm a son coming home and changing his country's fate. You get that, Carrie. Because tell me, why are you considering to work with Elisabeth?"

_Fanatics are the worst. Javadi._

_And Quinn who was so right,_ _asking why I'm choosing the small foundation over the grand stage. Why I'm not accepting my calling. And me confessing that I'm  
tempted to join Elisabeth's team for the much bigger scope. So much for why I exactly understand what Reza's talking about. _

_Just Javadi...what's in it for him? Why's he risking his deal with Saul?_

She knew, of course she knew.

_Being a powerful man now he hadn't to fear his financial misdeeds to be uncovered anymore. And the thirst for personal revenge for the humiliation we inflicted upon him._

"It's the curse of old men to realize that in the end, we control nothing. So we lash out." - Saul's words, which hit her now.

_As soon as Javadi knows Reza has me I'm dead._

\-----------------------

Quinn woke up early, even with the tranquilizer his sleep hadn't been restful. He vaguely remembered seeing a message from Carrie and fished for his phone in the still dark room.

_Arrived home safely. Enjoyed dinner. Still lots of snow. My sister's afraid it might be too cold for her japanese cherrytree._

It took him a few seconds to overcome his dizzyness and the initial warmth he felt when seeing the second sentence. But the rest didn't make sense. He checked the time, both the current time and the time she'd sent the message. There was no way how she could have been back to Bethesda, let alone having had a conversation with her sister about gardening.

_Why didn't I fucking realize that last night?_

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still the night after Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Laure and Zeffy - your support is great and generous! And again thanks to my East Coast consultants, aka Acat and Leblanc.
> 
> I know it needs a better title...will come up with something...

He tried to call her. Voicemail. He called her appartment. Redirected to her mobile, so voicemail again. He called Max. Voicemail. Fuck. Max again. Five times. Then Max answered.

 

"Fuck. Quinn, didn't they re-train you reading the clock? It's a day off and it's not even six."

"Where are you?"

"Uhm?"

"Where are you?"

"At my brother's house."

"Which is where?"

"Bethesda. Why? Listen, I know, I should've told you but I was just so pissed when you..."

"Max. This isn't about you and me. It's about Carrie."

"Carrie? Did you talk? Did you call her?"

"Yes. No. Yes, we talked. Listen, Max, it's important. Carrie was here last night. We had dinner together. And I received a strange text from her at the middle of the night that she's back at her sister's house. But that's not possible, timing-wise. She's not answering her fucking phone. Landline and mobile. I need you to go to her sister's house and check if she arrived there. Do you have a key for her appartement here?"

"Wait. Wait. So you saw her last night and now you think she's gone because she's not answering her phone?"

"And send a text with wasn't...Carrie."

"No offence but it's not that you and she were over-communicating recently."

"Max. Please. Believe me. I know something's fucking wrong here. I just fucking know it."

"Good. But check her place first before I scare Maggie to death. Keys are in the safe box. Office too. I replaced the old lock after the elections. The one without a name tag."

"Good. I'll call you as soon as I'm there. You drive to her sister's house in meantime. I want you to be there when I call you."

Quinn knew he he wouldn't be any help in any given situation with a Xanax-dizzy mind and cursed his current state. His former self would be at Carrie's place by now, he would have jumped into his pants while talking on phone. But these days multi-tasking or any task including jumping weren't in his range of specialities.

So he took a cold shower, brushing his teeth right there to save some time, downed a container of tomato soup right out of the fridge, remembering why he hated Bloody Marys, had a cup of coffee, and got dressed. He was going for sweatpants but then re-evaluated as he wouldn't be able to buckle on a holster. So it was jeans and he put the Glock in the front pocket. It was his own weapon, Dar had made a point to take all his service weapons away. On second thought he took the Smith Wesson too. It was a classic revolver, a 586, he had spinned the cylinder many times on particularly bad days over the last weeks, not as useful as weapon as the automatic Glock but it was all he had right now. He added extra ammunition, a set of Max' pick locks and some pain killers in the back pocket, got Carrie's keys and was finally ready to go.

When he reached her apartment he was sure she wasn't there. But he had to check anyway.

The door wasn't locked just latched.

_I knew it. Damn._

So he went in with the Glock in his right hand, fully aware that his marksmanship probably wasn't fucking A anymore.

There were toys and kids' shoes in the hallway, it looked like Frannie had emptied a toy box looking for a particular toy right before leaving, because the few times he'd been here the place had been very tidy. He went through all rooms, nobody had used the bedroom tonight, Carrie's jacket and boots were nowhere to be seen, the study was a mess.

_God, and I even saw the lights in her window when I sat in the playground._

He called Max.

"Max. She's not here. Go in and speak to her sister. Use an excuse. Don't scare her."

"It's 6.30. What excuse would work?"

"Come up with something. Call me afterwards."

The safe box was open. He had no idea what to look for and knew he wouldn't be able to figure out what was missing so he went back to the hallway. There was a set of keys on the small table, a keyring with a photo of Carrie's father holding a baby. He had seen that keyring many times, last night being one of those occasions.

His eyes wandered beneath the table, scanning the floor. There was a darker spot on the wood. He bent his knees and tried to crouch down which was painful. But necessary. The wood was wet. Melted snow. A few inches further he saw a small piece of paper. No, a small sachet. Delhi Heights. Dinner mints.

_She's been here. And probably dropped it on purpose. Fuck. Carrie._

He got up, suddenly feeling the tomato soup at the back of his tongue again and stumbled to a chair when his phone rang.

"Max?"

"She's not here. Maggie expects her to be with you." Quinn got the accusing tone but didn't react, knowing all to well he should have brought her upstairs last night.

"I know. She was here. And left again. Someone broke into her appartment, either waiting for her or she surprised the person. No sign of a fight though. No blood either."

"She'd never go with someone voluntarily."

"No. But there are plenty of ways how to make someone cooperate. A weapon usually helps."

"Fuck. Quinn, what now?"

"Do you know where Dar Adal lives? Drive there. I'll call him. We'll need some help. And then I need you here."

"Saul's in New York. Mira invited him for Thanksgiving."

"I need to talk to Dar first. But Saul might be useful. Can you text me his number?"

A ping indicated the arrival of the number a second later.

"Thanks. What did you tell her sister?"

"That I wanted to pick up Carrie for a run."

"A run? Do you run?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"Sorry. No offence. It's just...well, forget about it. Hell of a cover story. Did she get suspicious?"

"No. She was very apologetic for Carrie ditching me because she hurried through snow and ice to see you. She referred to you as 'Carrie's fallen knight'."

_Well, I had it coming. My badly covered disbelief about Max being a runner wasn't nice either._

"Right. You drive to Adal now. Maybe change from running gear to civilian clothes before. Just some friendly advice. I'll talk to you soon."

He palmed his face and took a deep breath, fighting another wave of dizzyness, silently cursing that Xanax and the tomato soup while speed dialing Adal's number.

"Peter. You pocket dialed me?"

"No. I need you in New York. Now."

"Well, two days ago you weren't that eager to see me. So why that sudden streak of yearning?"

"It's about Carrie."

"Of course it is. It's always about Carrie. Did she learn about your Tuesday excursion? Not from me, by the way."

"No. Just listen."

And something in the younger man's voice whom he knew for 25 years now told him that it was indeed urgent. Adal knew that version of Peter Quinn well, terse, calm, measured. He just had not expected to ever meet him again. Just that timbre of fear, that was new, he'd never heard that before. And so he listened without interrupting through Quinn's story. And had to admit it was disconcerting. Mathison had always been a flight risk but surprisingly determinded in her care for Peter and very well put together the last few times he'd seen her.

"What's your guess?"

"She came home and somebody was here. She surprised the person. No fight. Perpetrator probably had a weapon to make her cooperate."

"Or chloroform."

"No. She had time to think. She left the sachet to indicate me she was here, inside. And she sent me...holy fuck...God."

"What's it?"

"Wait. I'll call you back in a minute. Arrange your travel in between. I need you here. Ah, Max will be at your house any minute."

He re-opened Carrie's message and now it made sense. She'd been giving him a hint.

_The person was here when she came in. She kicked of her boots and he had her. My message came while they were still here. Somehow she convinced him to let her answer, probably saying I'd search for her if she wouldn't answer. But he saw what she was typing, so she tried to tell me...she knew I'd come here when I couldn't reach her. She knew I'd get suspicious because of the timings. And the cherrytrees...the park...at her office...God, Carrie. I was slow, much too slow. But I got it now._

He called Dar again.

"Peter."

"She sent me a message. Directing me to her office. Took me a while but it's her office. Listen, can you come here and bring Max along. I could call local police but..."

"No. Too early. And given who she was and with whom she works we'd have the FBI all over the place in no time. But wait for me."

"The fuck I'll do. Best case scenario is you'll be here in 2.5 hours. She sent that message at 2 am. I'm already five hours behind. What's Carrie working on right now?"

"You're asking me?", Dar had the chuzpe to chuckle, "The irony is not lost on you, isn't it?"

"I know about her work. At the foundation. But what's her business these days with Elisabeth?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"She probably did."

"But?"

"Fuck. I fucking can't remember. Okay? I fucking can't remember. So would you have the generousity to share your knowledge?"

"Saul's in New York anyway. Talk to him. He can call Keane. Someone should call her. I'll be there as fast as I can. Delta Shuttle and a car on ground should make it in about 2.5 hours."

"Take a helicopter."

"Peter. She's not even one of us any more."

"Deduct it from my compensation."

"Be reasonable. We don't even know what happened."

"I know what happened. And you never questioned my judgement before."

"And that's why I'll be there as fast as I can. For a fucking civilian. And will call Saul. He'll handle Elisabeth. And you wait for me."

"Right. Don't forget Max."

Quinn sat still after he'd ended the call. Just a moment.

_The fuck I'll wait here._

So with a sigh he got up again, made an other round through the appartment to check if he had missed any other sign but was sure Carrie hadn't been anywhere else but the hallway and her study.

Leaving the appartment his last glance went to the photo of Carrie and Frannie.

He called Rob while he was looking for a cab, asking him to put a guy outside Maggie's house.

He doubted any threat for Frannie, he was absolutely sure Carrie had surprised the perpetrator, but he'd rather be damned then making another mistake.

Rob was generous enough not to mention Hunt's Point.

Then he called Max again, thinking that he'd outnumbered his spoken words since May today before it was even 8 am.

He heard they were in a car and her heard Dar talking in the background, Saul probably.

"Listen, Max, don't tell Dar now. I'll go to her office. I doubt whatever the guy was looking for was there but maybe she had a chance to place another message there. Anyhow, someone should try to get hold of that german cheque book and ask what cases they're fighting right now. Or her secretary. Or that professor guy, he might know most. Maybe Saul can try to get hold of at least one of them. Without telling them Carrie's lost. When will you be here?"

"We have a flight in 30 minutes. Having a car to the airport right now."

"So you'll be here in two hours. Enjoy Adal's special perks, they'll drive you right to the plane. Call me as soon as you're out of the plane."

The taxi ride gave him a few minutes to think. With no hint in her office, and hoping for one was a fucking long shot requiring both her having had the chance to place one and him seeing and interpreting it, they'd have no idea where to look. Then it would all depend on finding a clue in her work. Elizabeth or the foundation. They wouldn't be able to keep this small and silent then. Saul would have to give a hell of a performance anyway for Elisabeth in order to not make her call the FBI right away.

_She surprised the guy and that's dangerous, the more the longer it takes. Because he has no fucking plan what to do with her._

  
\---------------------

Reza indeed had no plan what to do with her. She could see he was tired. Bone-deep exhaustion was taking over her to. But this would be a long night and she had to keep interacting with him and try to understand Javadi's motivation.

_If there IS anything to understand beyond personal revenge._

"Reza, you and I, we are on the same side. I understand you. I feel the same. That's why Elisabeth's offer's so tempting. Helping not 40 or 50 but changing politics. Making history. I get that. But wanna know why I didn't jump Elisabeth's train whole-heartedly yet?"

"Didn't you?"

"No, I didn't. She's still waiting for my answer."

"So why?"

"Because I've been there before. Being tempted. Thinking this is my calling. Thinking fate put me in that position. And feeling the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. But here's the thing. Whatever I did, however right it felt or however forced I felt to do it exactly that way or to make exactly that choice - it never turned out to be the right decision. It never changed the run of the world in a way nobody else could have done so. But it was always me who personally paid a high price. Cos you never can go back to the before. The doubt, the guilt, the worries, that stays with you and never vanishes. So even for the times I still believe it was the right cause, it still weighd heavy on me. Takes my sleep at night. Makes me look at my daughter and wonder, no fear, what she might think should she ever learn about her mother's past and path. Makes me lonely because I know and have seen things nobody knows and should have seen. And I can't even talk about them. So I'll be lonely. And I might lose my daughter one day when she's old enough. And when I look at the world today I ask myself 'Was it worth it? All that death and destruction? The void between societies still grow bigger, terrorism isn't a smaller threat today as it was ten years ago, democracy is far from winning in the Middle East, thousands of soldiers as well as civilians died and more die every day, we haven't have a single idea how to successfully fight ISIS. So, I'm asking myself - do I really make a difference? Did the United States Politics really make a difference for the better? But I know one thing: For those 40 people a year we make a difference. Sometimes between life and death, sometimes between prison or freedom, sometimes just in giving them a piece of humanity because we listen to them and believe their story. So that's my story.  
I get you. I'm torn too."

"That's easy now, Carrie. You are like a lawyer giving your summation. And you're good. Damn good. Great arguments, emotional personal details, repentence, believable but not too much, open questions, admitting doubts. And all that screams 'in dubio pro reo'. Brava. Just, this is no court. This is not the case Carrie Anne Mathison against humanity. This is about me. And I'm no longer willing to be a bystander. It's easy, to be at a personal crossroads and to look back at decades of intervention politics and to say then 'ups, mishap, failed, but things are so complex and muddled now, somehow we can't stop now because everything would get much worse then'. This wasn't about you until you decided to come back tonight. This is about my country."

"About your country. Which one?"

"Iran. I'm not American."

"Really think so? What makes us member of a nation? You grew up here. Went to school, university, teach at an university now. There are people with similar backstories who'd get very upset if someone would tell them they are less of an American as me."

"Nature or nurture. Nobody can answer that. But I made a choice."

"So, let's assume for a moment there'd really exist files which hold any crucial information about plans of the US regarding the Iran. And you or someone else would manage to transfer these to Javadi. Let's even say the information is useful which I still doubt. And then what? You think whatever will happen then will result in the US saying 'Sorry, we were wrong, have it your way?'"

"Each change has to start at some point. There will be a period of transition."

"Did he give you more details?"

"We didn't speak about that yet."

"No, you didn't. I thought so. How did he get in contact with you anyway? Was he here? Thought last time was enough for him."

"Turkey. The conference in Istanbul."

"Okay. Do your parents know?"

"No. They'd..."

Carrie had seen it many times. People, assets or suspects, wanting to open up, hoping for being heard and understood. That Reza still cared for his parents' opinion and feelings was good. As long as he cared there was a way back.

"Would they agree?"

"Don't think so. But I don't agree with all of the decisions they took either."

They were silent for a while. Carrie was exhausted and without talking she felt despair creeping up her spine. Even if Quinn found her signs, and that was a fucking long shot, he had no way of knowing where Reza had brought her as this apartment wouldn't be listed in his data anywhere.

After a few minutes Reza got up and grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen counter, offering her a glass too.

Carrie calculated how long she could make it without her meds. She'd never mentioned her illness with Reza and wondered if it would be helpful to do so now, if not Javadi had told the story of his recruitment anyway.

_I have to keep the conversation going. As long as we have a connection he can't overthink his options. Because he has none. And as soon as he realized that I'm deep in shit._

"You know, Reza, in a way it's the irony of fate."

"What?"

"Keane. She thinks like you."

"How so?"

"That the US' foreign policy has to undergo a fundamental change. That the approach of the last decades didn't bring us anywhere."

"That's kind of obvious."

"But it requires the hell of balls to say it in public. And to act accordingly."

"Well, she didn't yet."

"But she will. She's not shy. She alread called my former, well, he wasn't my boss, but high-rank, she already called him on his shit. And she won't step back from this. Which is the reason why I'm once again tempted. I think she'll be able to change things. And that would make a huge difference."

"But she can't make decades of intervention undone."

"No. But so can neither you, nor your uncle."

She saw she'd made a point here.

"Reza, we can't change the past. But we can try to shape the future."

\------------------

Her office was small, a former appartment converted into office space. Two rooms with four work desks, a small kitchen and a small room with a meeting table. Lots of book shelves with binders.

A safe box which had been opened and searched.

_So they've been here._

He hadn't entered the room yet, still stood in the door, trying to get a feeling for what might have happened here just hours before. There was camera equipment on the table but nothing high-end probably just for documenting interviews with clients. No computer. Probably a laptop which she had taken with her to her sister's house. A chair next to the desk in an odd angel.

_He cuffed her to the desk. This is where she sat. Given the colorful myriad of notes this is her desk._

He walked closer and took the scene in. The safe box behind her desk was locked but there were a couple of pages on the floor beneath it. He doubted they were important. If they were they wouldn't have been left behind. But someone should take the fingerprints.

Carrie's notes were all over the desk pad, in different colours and her small hand-writing. Given his assumption that she'd been seated at the right upper corner of the desk her range had been limited to maybe a third of the notepad. So he searched that first. And found the circled note quickly.

 _Q 2.30_  
Reza's place?  
Iran  
Trust

_Clever Carrie. You are such a tough cookie._

" _I don't even trust Reza or Theresa."_

_Of course I remember that sentence._

_2.30 am. God, Carrie, I'm so fucking late to the party and so sorry. I should've been here hours ago._

_Iran. Time to call Saul._

He methodically went through all the other notes and checked the other desks. Nothing.

"Saul. It's Quinn."

"I know. Where are you?"

He hadn't seen Carrie's former mentor since an awkward hospital visit in Berlin, a few weeks after waking up. But it was neither the time nor the place to catch up on news.

"Doesn't matter. Tell me, what's the situation in Iran these days?"

"Complicated. But more stable as any other country in the region. For now. Syrian situation difficult. As you know well. Why?"

"Well, when was it not complicated? Can you give me a few more details?"

"Quinn, you're not trying to pull this off alone, are you? Listen, Elisabeth is clearly worried..."

"So am I", Quinn cut in, "and spare me the lecture about waiting for back up or even FBI involvement. You and I know damn well there's a good chance an old friend of yours is behind this. She was home around midnight so it's a good eight hours now. How long you think we should wait, huh? Right now, they think nobody knows she's missing so we should use our time fucking wise. So - Iran?"

When Saul ended his not so enlightening briefing - it just didn't make sense, Javadi's position had been so comfortable, why would he risk it now? - Quinn asked him to provide him details about Carrie's colleagues, Theresa and Reza.

"Theresa's clean. With the foundation for nearly 14 years. Was a school secretary before. Married. Two kids."

"And Reza?"

"No idea."

"No idea?!"

"Who's that?"

"A law professor working with Carrie at the foundation."

"Never heard of him."

"You and Carrie do speak sometimes?"

Saul let a heavy sigh and Quinn wondered what he'd been expecting.

"We do. But it's difficult. So, Reza, law professor. What else?"

"Run him through the system and see what you'll find. His parents fled from Iran in the early days of the revolution."

_That's what she said, wasn't it?_

And on second thought: "See if he has any recent travels to the Middle East, any chance that he crossed Javadi's path."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No. It doesn't. But if we just navigate by sense: How come that Carrie's out of the game since three years and you and I are again having a phone call about Carrie being held hostage? Or worse? So check it, for God's sake."

"I'm not in Langley today, I'll need to make a few calls."

"Just choose the right people."

_So, Reza. Two apartments. Where to start?_

He had an inkling that it might be the one close to the Interstate. The house had looked shabby. Not that he had an idea how a law professor would live but probably a bit nicer and a bit closer to his work place. And he'd seen him more frequently around the other place.

He checked the paper bins during his musings and was rewarded with finding her phone. Well, kind of rewarded. He pocketed it and fished for her SIM card aswell, she would  
want to have it back.

He didn't allow himself to consider she might not get a chance to.

_Probably Max can check if there's any call or message which could point to anything._

But he was absolutely sure, if Carrie had suspected anything immediate threat she'd have told him. Or wouldn't she? This wasn't about anything which could be found in the presidential dossiers.

Max called when he was on his way back down.

"Highway's are relatively okay for shoppingeddon-day. Should hit Brooklyn in twenty. Where are you?"

"Huh?"

"People go shopping today. Everybody's having the day off. Long Weekend."

"Right. Good. Listen, I was in Carrie's office. She left a message. It's that Reza sleazebag."

"You sure?"

He heard Adal asking for an update in the background.

"Absolutely. Listen, he has two appartments. And I'm sure I know which one's the right."

"So we all go there?"

"No. There's always a chance to be wrong. We can't afford to lose more time. It's just one guy and a gun, go with Adal to the Brooklyn one, I'll send you the data."

"And you?"

"Go to the other one."

"Alone?"

"Thank you very much."

"I'll go with you."

Quinn considered his friend's offer for a second and had to admit that Max was right. Picklocks required steadier hands, plural, than his often shaky right hand, singular.

"Give me Adal."

"Peter."

"I narrowed it down to two possible locations. Prob just one attacker, chances are he's a civilian, not trained. Must be somehow related to Iran, maybe to Javadi, I can't get my head around that yet, Saul's working that angel. Do you have an armed agent with you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let Max out, he's joining me. Two locations, two teams. Let's end it clean and fast before Keane makes up her mind and we party with the FBI."

"Peter. I have to ask you this. You sure you can handle?"

"You're asking me if I'm sure? No.  
You're asking me if I'll go anyway? Yes. Because there's only so much time we can afford to lose. And I fucking found her. So I'd say I'm  
the best shot she has now. Which speaks volumes about her former employer and her new employer, I'd say. I'll send you the adress. Remember. Just one guy with one gun. Tired. No risk. Sneak attack or surrender."

"My active field days might be long gone, Peter, but I did this before. Be assured, I did this before."

"Right."

"Wait for Max, Peter."

"Confirmed."

Dar called him again a while later, when he was waiting for Max, two blocks from the apartment he'd seen Reza going in.

\---------------------------------

"What future, Carrie? I made a decision, I was meant to leave before Christmas."

"Reza, think. There's no sense in this. All the intel I know from Iran, even if I don't know everything, shows a stable country on the rise. Our countries eventually have a thaw. I don't know how much of this was steered by your uncle but I can assure you, an espionage incident will end this. The backlash will be bad. Your country's winning influence, sadly induced by the war in Syria as well as the inner transformation it underwent post Ahmadinejhad. Your uncle is one of the smartest persons I ever met. He wouldn't risk years, decades of his work. There must be another reason."

She saw Reza's tired mind was trying to piece an answer together. But there was none. It simply made no sense. But she saw she'd planted a seed of doubt.

"Reza, could I have another glass of water? Or do you have coffee or tea here?"

"Just instant."

"That'll do."

He came back with a mug and a chocolate bar and offered her a half of that too.

It made Carrie sad, knowing whatever would be the end of this night they'd never spend a coffee break together again, discussing cases and strategies.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

Reza sad back down, the gun now on the couch next to him, not pointing at her anymore.

"What did he promise you?"

"Who? Ah, my uncle. I told you. A role in the new government."

"Is he planning a coup?"

"Maybe."

"So how would your extraction plan work? Christmas break? Or depending on how things go earlier?"

"I get a new identity. And enough funds to leave the country."

"Sure. What did your uncle tell you about me?"

"He never lost you. Always had an eye on you. He said you are one of the smartest, most bullheaded and most devoted persons he ever met. He is full of admiration for you. He told me to find a way to keep you out of it."

"Worked out just fine."

"Yeah", he took another bite from his candy, "it did. For which I'm really sorry. Did you really put yourself in a mental instituation to place the bait?"

"I did. But that was a long time ago. I wouldn't do it again."

"What has changed?"

"A lot of things. Or maybe not so many. First of all there's Frannie. She changed me deeply, in a way I didn't believe it was possible."

"I get that. A lot of people say that their kids changed them. But did she change your view on your work too?"

"She did. But other things happened too. Islamabad and Berlin."

"What happened there?"

"You know Berlin. Everybody saw that video."

"Was he...important to you?"

"He still is."

_Why lie now? I owe him at least this. I never said it to him._

"How is he?"

"Not good."

_And yet my only chance to get out of here._

"And Islamabad? What happened there?"

"A lot of things went down the drain. A giant clusterfuck. You know about the Taliban embassy attack. Well, I was there. We were there. Quinn and I. And Saul. And many other good people, friends, who didn't survive. And that was my mistake. Reza, you are a good man. Don't underestimate the weight your deeds will have on your shoulders. They'll never go away."

"Did you kill people?"

"I did. Both with weapons and with my decisions. The later is heavier. Because sometimes it happens when you don't see it coming. Things start to snowball and then bam."

"But then it's not your fault."

"That's too easy, Reza. It is my fault. And I owe the victims the respect to never forget that. There is no innocent killing by accident. A life is a life."

They felt silent but Carrie hoped she was still reaching him.

His voice was different, much softer, when he spoke again.

"You know, family has a different meaning in our culture. To lose my mother and his nieces and nephews broke my uncle's heart."

"Sure."

"His wife left him too."

"He killed her."

"No. She left him. Although we don't have divorce in Iran."

"We", said by the man who'd lived all his life in the US.

"Well, believe me, I was there, four years ago. He found her. She was visiting her daughter in law and her grand child. Your uncle shot the younger woman through her head and killed Fariba with a broken bottle of plumwine which he rammed into her carotid artery. It was a slaughterhouse."

"He told me you would say this. But it was one of your agents, he was just the scapegoat. My uncle loved his wife and reveres his family. Family is above all for us Muslims."

"I heard that before. Let me tell you a story. About Islamabad. You asked me if I killed people. I did. There. There was a young man. He was studying to become a daughter and he had a lovely girlfriend, a nurse. They were dreaming to go to London one day together. Most of his family was dead but he had an uncle, a powerful man. A highrank Taliban leader. But Aayan, that was his name, met the wrong people. He met me, and it was my task to hunt his uncle. So I played him. And made him go to the mountains to see his uncle. His uncle was holding one of my colleagues hostage."

"How did you know?"

"Drones. Providing vision. The plan was to kill the uncle. But things got muddy, there was my colleague and there was Aayan."

"What happened?"

"The uncle, Haqqani, kissed Aayan on his forehead."

"And?"

"Shot him through his head."

 

She saw him taking a deep breath.

"And you?"

"We didn't strike. A few days later, Haqqani attacked the embassy. 29 people died."

Reza didn't say anything. Neither did she.

\-----------------------

Quinn picked up his phone and saw a taxi leaving the highway.

"Peter. I just spoke to Saul. Javadi is Reza's uncle. His mother is Javadi's sister."

_That is a game changer. I knew there was a piece missing._

"How come we only learn that know? How come nobody checked that guy's background before? She's working with the president, for god's sake."

"She's not agency anymore. And the guy's just volunteering."

"Sure. That'll gonna let Saul sleep at night. She's not agency anymore. So when Javadi goes on his little personal revenge raid she's easy prey."

He heard the venom in his voice and didn't care.

"And while we are at it, how come nobody had enough eyes on Javadi to see it coming? Iran's so pretty neat and stable these days, you kind of forgot, uhm? God, as if Javadi wasn't just waiting for a chance to pay back for his humiliation. Really think he ever lost Carrie's track?"

"Peter, this is neither the place nor the time to discuss. It's not that you decided to have an eye on Mathison for the majority of those years. Javadi is a high-rank asset and handled accordingly. Now he's off the rocker and we'll deal with it. I have a team going to Tehran station in an hour. The station chief is on it. Saul's coming over, wait for him. That's an order."

"Sure."

He ended the call before Adal could say more.

_The fuck I'll do._

Max had reached him.

"Who's technically your employer? The agency?"

"No."

"Good. Cause we technically we are on standby."

"Technically."

"I go in. You don't have to come."

"What's the situation?"

"Just my guess. One mislead civilian of the rocker and therefore tired and dangerous. One gun. Not trained. Not expecting us. But we have no idea of the layout of the place. It should be small though. Look at the building, four floors. Eight doorbells. So two units on each floor. Can't be much more than a studio. But again, just a guess."

"Then let's go."

"Wait. Ever fired a gun?"

"Nope."

"Well. I go first. Stay behind me. Whatever happens, stay behind me. Take this", he gave Max the Smith Wesson after releasing the safety lever, "you have six shots. Aim for the upper torso if you can. If you decide to shoot pull through without delay or hesitation. Only shoot to defend your own life. Understood?"

"Yeah."

"Third floor. You open the doors", he gave him the picklocks, "once we are in no more talking. In case he gets me, get Carrie out first."

His phone rang. Saul. He ignored it and switched it off.

"Let's go."

\-------------------------

Reza got up and went to the kitchen, taking his phone. She knew he was going to call Javadi now. Time was running short.

And so he did. He went to the bathroom for that call.

He came back after a few minutes and looked even more exhausted. She saw his eyes going from her to his weapon and knew.

"Reza. Could I use the bathroom again? The coffee, you know?"

\------------------------

They arrived at the landing just beneath the third floor. Indeed two doors. Quinn's leg made silent movements really difficult so he indicated Max with a gesture to his ear and to the doors to go and listen for any sounds.

Max did.

Not a single sound. Neither here nor there.

So it had to be both doors.

Just when Max started to fumble  
with the picklocks he heard a voice behind the other door.

Speaking a foreign language. Farsi. Not his repertoire but Quinn's.

He quickly went the seven stairs back down, offering Quinn is arm as support for semi-silent movements.

The sound was too muffled for Quinn to make the words, then her heard footsteps, but he gave Max a glance and - when it was silent again - a nod.

This door, now, having his Glock at the ready.

\------------------------

Reza looked at her, irritated.

But it was her only chance to get some range.

"Reza, unless you want me to pee my pants..."

He went to the desk at collected his weapon.

_Sure, in the bathroom, easier to clean anyway._

It was a surreal thought and she wondered if she should cry, plea for her life, for her daughter, if she'd played her cards well.

_Frannie, Quinn, Maggie. I'm so sorry. But I won't go without a fight._

He unlocked the cuffs and indicated her with the weapon to go ahead. She stretched.

"Sorry. My hands cramp. Just a second."

She knew she would just have one chance. The last resort. Crescent kick and cavalier to disarm. He would shoot if he got a chance. So she had a stealthy look at him, once more figuring his height.

_About 5'9". So better not to aim to high._

She entered the bathroom, focused now, feeling him behind her.

_It all depends on him hesitating. I need him right in the door jamb. Limited range._

\--------------------

Max inserted the picklock, calm and concentrated, feeling for the small resistance to be triggered. There it was. It was deadly silent behind the door.

Max gave Quinn a look and a nod and then a silent 'klick' indicated the lock opening.

Now.

\----------------------

Now.

Carrie spun round on her left heel, using the moment of force to increase the power of her kick, a crescent designed to hit the groin and make Reza double over into her waiting hands performing a chevalier grip to disarm him. She missed the weapon but had his wrist, using her knee for a punch aiming his crotch, and desperatly trying to get the muzzle pointing away from her before Reza had a chance to regain the upperhand.

\-------------------------

The door opened the moment the shot was fired.

BAM.

Not his weapon. Not Max.

He was in, immediatly turning left.

BAM.

God, Carrie. No. No.

A door to the right. A man's back. Carrie hidden behind him. A flash of blond hair. A weapon and wrestling hands.

BAM.

That was his Glock. Through the calf.

The man screamed and fell over, holding his leg.

Carrie stood. In the bathroom. Eyes wide open. Blood on her legs.

Max passed him.

"Carrie. My God, Carrie."

Quinn quickly searched the appartment, but he'd been right, just Reza and Carrie. And Reza's phone which he secured, Dar might wanna have a lock at it.

Coming back to the bathroom less than a minute later, he bent down and pulled the man aside. He was still screaming. If he only would stop.

Max still muttered Carrie's name, his arms around her now.

"Carrie. God. Carrie. Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Carrie, that blood...are you bleeding? Carrie, talk to me."

But she just stood there. Staring at him. And Reza. Not reacting to Max. Just staring.

"Max. Secure the weapon, call an ambulance, and get a blanket or a curtain for a tourniquet. Otherwise he'll be losing too much blood."

Max let go of her and she still stood there. She was crying. Silently. Tears trickling down her face.

He noticed he still had his unsecured weapon in his hand and put it away, next to the bathtub, right next to a block of soap, green, before he turned back to her.

She didn't move when he put his arm around her shoulder and stepped closer. But when he folded his arm tightly around her she rested with her cheek against his chest. He brushed his lips along her forehead, her hair tickled him, and felt her taking a deep breath, fighting the sobs.

"I'm here now. It's okay. I'm here now. Take a deep breath. You are okay. It's over. Take your time. Just take a deep breath."

  
Suddenly Dar was there. And Saul. And the ambulance.

He let go of her and noticed just now, when she extricated herself, that her hands had been clenching his shirt.

He stepped back, taking her hands carefully away from his chest, and raised her left hand to press a kiss on her knuckles.

She saw Saul and Dar, looked up to him, he couldn't process everything fast enough, and then stepped back and closed the door.

Max sat on the floor.

Dar searched the appartment.

Saul knocked against the bathroom door.

She didn't answer.

He heard water running.

It didn't stop for a long while.

"Give me your weapon, Peter."

"Why?"

"Because this is enough of a clusterfuck without a terror victim shooting a defected law professor. Not to mention that the said terror victim already has an entry in a homicide case related to the victim's family. You've never been here. Leave now."

And so he left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the lots of supportive comments I received for this story. Thank you. Everybody who ever posted a story here will probably have my back when I say: Comments are great.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Day after Carrie has been kidnapped and rescued (herself) starts for Carrie at a safe house with Dar and Saul while Quinn has been sent away by Dar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For NES who had an exciting week.

  
"Where is Quinn?"

Max just came back, he'd gotten her some fresh clothes from her appartment and she had used a shower in the anonymous safe house Dar had brought her in. They needed a safe line to talk to the Tehran station, Elisabeth was brought in to and Saul informed the White House about 'a situation'.

"I don't know", Max muttered, handing her a thick woolen cardigan he'd pulled out of her closet as she emerged from the bathroom in clean jeans and a white shirt now.

Sweet Max, going through her wardrobe and picking an outfit for her, clearly aiming for warm and comfortable.

"Dar sent him away. Said he was never there. Too much hassle."

Carrie got it, even understood it. But still he was all she wanted now. And Frannie. She briefly considered to just walk away. She was not agency anymore, she didn't have to be here. But, when it really had been Javadi...and it would be a hell of a clusterfuck if the FBI took over and would find a single trace of Quinn at the side. So she had to stay, whereas all she wanted was to curl up in her bed and sleep and have him next to her.

"Come, they're waiting", Max' voice snapped her out of her stupid daydream.

She fastened the cardigan's belt even closer as if she could force some warmth into her bones that way.

"I brought you something to eat and a hot chocolate."

She took both items but put them on the shabby sideboard there for a moment, hugging Max tightly.

"Thank you, Max. For everything."

"Carrie", Dar appeared in the door jamb, "shall we? You know the protocol."

  
\--------------------

Quinn's shot had passed clean through Reza's calf, Saul had escorted him to the hospital where he was getting surgery now and would be put under isolation and guard for the time being.

Quinn wasn't mentioned in the debrief, official story she'd texted Max, Max had solved the puzzle and called Dar for help, Dar had taken the shot to save her.

It was dark again when she was allowed to leave.

Max brought her home. She was tired, cold and hungry. Knowing her fridge would probably empty - she was much better at stocking supplies for Quinn than for herself, Max thought with a smile - he stopped on the way and got two bowls of soup from a Thai take out, veggies and mushrooms for Carrie, chicken for himself. Comfort food, he hoped. Well, at least he could use some comfort.

Her study was more or less tidied up, all the papers in neat stacks on her desk, the binders back in the shelf. Her phone and her SIM card laid on her desk, next to a new lock and keys, Frannie's toys were back in the box.

She was grateful.

But no note.

After eating and then changing the lock Max made two cups of tea and they sat together for a few more minutes, utterly drained.

"How was he?"

"Determined. Angry. In fear."

"You know where he went after he was here and cleaned up?"

"No."

"How are you, Max?"

"I don't know. Today brought up...some unpleasant memories."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. This time, it's really not your fault."

"Will you be okay?"

"I'll manage, Carrie, I'll manage. C'mere, let me give you a hug and then I'll leave and let you sleep."

He got up and gave her a tight hug and she squeezed him back.

"I'll go and get Frannie tomorrow, wanna go back to Virgil and drive with me?"

"No. I stay here. Sleep well."

"Max. Take one of the keys. Please."

He was gone and she locked the door twice.

She switched on her phone and send Maggie a text, saying she'd come tomorrow. Maggie texted back, with a photo of Frannie and her nieces and a snow man.

A precious bubble of mundane happiness.

\---------------------

_Ten hours earlier_

He called Adal after an hour. Of course he didn't answer but he called him back some minutes later.

"How is she?"

"Holding it together."

"I have two guys outside her house. I have a team at her sister's house."

"Peter, she's not..."

"Agency anymore. Do me a favor and just cut that, will you? She was nearly killed last night because of one of the more shady ops in CIA's history. So I want two teams. And a fresh replacement taking over at her sister's tomorrow morning."

"Fine."

"When will you let her go?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"Can I pick her up?"

"No. You can't know where we are now."

" _Technically_ I am still agency."

" _Technically_ we are not even talking right now. She won't stay the night here."

"Thanks."

\----------------------

  
She called him when Max had left.

He answered after the second ring.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So they let you go."

"Yeah. Finally."

"You ok?"

"Kind of. Thanks for cleaning up my place."

"Sure."

"You ok?"

"Yeah. Tired. But ok."

"Where were you suddenly?"

"Adal sent me away. Said he couldn't have my name in the files."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yeah."

"Quinn?"

"I...I really wanted to...talk to you afterwards. I'm sorry I missed you leaving. And then they wouldn't let me go."

"It's okay Carrie, I know the drill."

"No. It's not okay. I'd come to see you now but I'm afraid I'd fall down the stairs, that's how tired I am."

"I get that."

"I was hoping for you to be here."

_There. I said it._

There was a long pause and Carrie remembered how it was in the morning when she saw him, just after Reza had shot into the bathroom wall, her hand fighting for the gun, and Quinn had shot his leg. How Reza collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain and she saw Quinn, his gun still in his hand, how he looked at her. She wanted him to be with her, wanted to lean into him, wanted to say it all - and couldn't. She choked on words, couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't do anything.

"I...", he paused, "could come now."

"Yes."

"Well then...now. Sure?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So...I'll see you soon."

\----------------------

After he'd left the studio he'd come back to her place and had cleaned up, thinking she shouldn't come back to that mess. He had considered taking care of the lock himself but had quickly learnt that he had been getting ahead of himself here so he had left that for Max.

He hadn't been able to resist and had opened her walk in wardrobe, finding one more or less empty board with a few neatly folded items of men's clothes. Sweatpants and shirts. Chances were, they'd been meant for him.

Like it or not, he still had needed a break so he'd taken a cab back home and collapsed on his bed and slept for two hours, followed by a hot shower.

He'd tried to call Max but no success.

Afterwards he'd been anxious and agitated so he had gone for a walk. He had had a break and some late lunch at the indian place, recalling last night's conversation.

_God, that was less than eighteen hours ago_

The owner had asked where his beautiful girlfriend was.

And then he'd been drawn to the playground. He'd arrived at early dusk, days were short in November.

There had been more snow.

_Twentyfour hours ago she came here._

He had seen the lights at her apartment being switched on. And hadn't called her. But he hadn't left either.

It had been time to make some decisions. Or maybe at least one decision.

He had been sure. And so fucking afraid to fuck it up.

\------------------------

So he slowly walked over to her house. He had kept a key for the new lock but used the doorbell. Probably she wouldn't appreciate any more intruders today.

\-----------------------

Carrie nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang as it was way too early to be Quinn.

But it was him.

She heard his steps on the stairs.

And there he was, some snowflakes in his hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes tired but alert, coming down the hallway from the stairs. It was just a few yards and yet it felt like an eternity.

When he reached her he stopped, about an arm lengths away from her.

She looked at him, a silent question.

And he knew he'd made his decision.

It was a careful embrace when he stepped closer, awkward and hesitant, his coat a barrier between them and he quickly detached to not make her wet with the snow which made her smile. She watched when he put his jacket away.

"I didn't expect you that fast."

"Sorry."

"Where were you? Waiting outside?"

He shrugged. "Kind of, I guess."

"God, Quinn...what...how..."

He saw the tears welling up in her eyes and carefully pulled her closer again. She sank into his embrace and he felt her shoulders and back shaking. Without her shoes she was even smaller than in the morning when he'd seen her blood spattered in that bathroom and he felt his throat tightening.

Her face was burried against his chest, her arms crooked and locked close to her own body and he held her tight, his nose and mouth buried in her hair.

They stood like this for minutes.

Then she raised her head and he could see how exhausted she was.

"Did you get some sleep?"

"No. Not yet. But I..."

"It's okay. Let's just go and sleep. C'mon."

And when she took the hand he offered he thought there actually might be a way for them, together.

He walked her to her bedroom where she crawled under her blanket and was asleep within a second. At least he thought so. But when he moved away in order to change into the pair of sweatpants he'd found in her closet in the afternoon, along with some shirts and boxers, he heard her sleepy voice again.

"Quinn, where you..."

"Shh. Just changing."

"Not leaving?"

_God. We surely do have some baggage._

"No. Not leaving."

"Good."

When he slid under the cover and laid down next to her he noticed he was far too done in to consider thoroughly how he felt. But it felt good.

\---------------------

He woke up a few hours later, it was still pitch dark in the room. But he knew where he was and it felt good, so fucking good.

He sensed Carrie was awake or at least more or less, and when she stirred he felt her hands under his shirt, smoothing over his back, and he realized that the pleasant warm feeling under his left hand was her skin.

She sighed and he felt her stiffen a fraction of a second and then relaxing into him and he knew she was awake and aware now.

He felt her hand wandering over his back, still hesitant, fingertipps ghosting over the Berlin exit wound's scar, and he splayed his hand across her small back to pull her in closer.

She was pressed against him now, her duvet a warm cocoon around them, and her mouth was just an inch away, he felt her breathing against his skin.

Carrie woke up when she felt his hand finding its way under her shirt, promising, warm and just the slightest bit hesitant. He never had let go of her over those last hours, whenever she'd started up she'd noticed a warm and steady arm around her, securing her and holding her until she'd finally been in a deep and peaceful sleep. A human shelter.

She felt her heartbeat accelerating and moved her hands towards his warmth, searching and finding a stretch of smooth skin to carress and explore further.

They didn't talk. There simply were no words.

When they kissed it was a tentative kiss, soft and almost chaste in the beginning and his careful tenderness stirred something deep inside her and made her feel tears welling up in her eyes.

Finally.

She remembered their kiss their first kiss all those years ago and knew he did too when he cupped her cheek and broke away for a second to look at her, eyes barely visible in the darkness of her bedroom.

"God, Carrie...", he whispered, "if he'd shot you or...just c'mere."

He brushed his lips over hers, paused for a fraction of a second, and then kissed her again, his mouth covering hers, exploring, savouring and his tongue finally slowly invading her parted lips and meeting hers. Their kiss deepened and they both gave in to their desire.

Carrie felt herself melting into him, her hands were carressing his back and exploring the landscape of his body while they kept kissing. She was drowning in emotions, all those years, all that pain and fear, those last months, with him and still without him.

He'd stopped imagining sex with her years ago, just sometimes hadn't been able to control his dreams. And still it was different. Much more hesitant than most of his former fantasies. Much more time and patience, much more tenderness.

She felt him against her hip but he took it slow, his hands mapping her body, taking her in and taking possession of her. She noticed the firmer pressure of his right hand against the lighter, sometimes tentative touch of his left and that he used both his hands for her, despite everything and every struggle, made her swallow back some sudden tears.

"Quinn...", she murmured, her mouth still on his, her hands now in the back of his boxers, cupping his ass, "...please...I missed you so much...I was so afraid...you wouldn't...come back..."

He had no idea if she was talking about this night or the last months or the years before or maybe all of it. But it finally didn't matter, for a few precious moments it didn't matter.

His hand was wandering along her waist now, trailing her curves, he was feeling hazy and caught himself holding his breath.

Her breast was small and firm under his palm, her nipple already hard and he couldn't resist, he just couldn't. So he broke their kiss, placed her on her back, pushed her shirt up to expose her breasts and lowered himself to kiss and explore.

She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple for the first time, arching her back and adding some pleasant friction further south, so he did it again, a swirling tongue and a grating thumb.

Those soft moans she did were his undoing, her hands in his hair and then down in his pants again, her breathing already accelerated - and her hands dragging his boxers down now made him shiver in anticipation.

"Carrie...please...God, Carrie, I fucking want you...so much...please...just let me..."

He was just about to move his hand down to her waist and to shove her underwear down when a sudden thought made him stop.

He considered not saying it. Just ignoring it. The risk was low. Nearly non-existent. They had always used condoms. They had, for sure. Or hadn't they? Just that last time, he couldn't remember. That had been Tuesday. Just a few days ago. But the girls used condoms with all customers. For sure they did. They just had to. Or wasn't that...common sense? Just...how could he start here with betrayal and a lie? And if...just if...he wasn't clear and would infect her...he didn't even have anything with him...God, what had he done?

His mouth was still at her breast, her hand was still in his boxers but he'd stopped licking and fondling her.

She didn't even need a lot of empathy to sense his change of mood as it was ridiculously obvious.

She stopped too, even withdrew her hands and still he hadn't said a word.

And he didn't want to say it. Not now.

"Quinn...", his name was a question, a streak of hurt already detectable.

_God, Carrie, I am so sorry._

"Carrie...I...", he tried to find her eyes and tried to get hold of her hand, unsuccessfully, "it's not that I don't want. But I...probably shouldn't ", God, this was hard, "I've been with someone else...just recently...and I don't know...and wouldn't wanna pass anything over to you...so I probably shouldn't...Carrie, please, I'm so sorry."

She was out of his arms even before he'd finished his second sentence, recoiled at the other end of the bed. He switched on one of the bedside lamp, as if seeing her would change anything.

"Whom?" Her voice was broken and he wondered if this was finally the end.

"Whores."

Time stood still. He had said it. And realized while saying it and hearing his own words and how they hung between them right now how big this confession was. And the bitter irony wasn't lost on him - years he spent hoping for her to get there and finally when she was there it was him who wasn't ready for whatever she was offering. So instead he was whoring around. Full stop. There was no euphemism to legitimate to what he did.

She was still sitting on the bed and yet already was miles away. He didn't need the dim light of a bedside lamp to know the expression on her face. It's not that he never knew that opening up was hard for her and that being abandoned and rejected, not being good enough, probably was her worst fear. He once spent years believing and hoping it could be different for them - if she just would let him in. And now she let him in, was there for him six fucking months now, every single day a spoken or unspoken prove.

And he fucking knew it. He relied on her and learnt to trust her being there. He just realized it here and now - _I rely on her. I trust her. I knew she wouldn't leave me. I knew she'd stay. Whenever I went to that playground I knew I could rely on her being there._

And to be honest he kind of started to take her presence for granted. What he didn't consider was that there might come a day where his pathetic post Berlin existence and a potential future might merge and he would have to exculpate himself - which would require some rational understanding of his own choices. And that was something which he couldn't offer.

She had snagged for her cardigan and it was wrapped around her now, her knees and legs were pulled up and under the thick wool too, just her bare feet and ankles were uncovered, her arms were around her knees, her hair a curtain and hiding her face.

"Carrie. I...I don't know what else to say...", no answer, "but it's not something I could not not mention...I mean..."

Her head came up again, she was facing him now, pale and hurt written deep into her expression.

"No, Quinn. It wasn't something you could not not mention. But you don't expect me to be grateful, do you? You don't expect me to thank you for not sharing some nice STIs. And your certainly don't expect me to say that it's okay, that I understand you or that it doesn't matter. Cause to me it fucking matters. And it fucking hurts. And it hurt all the way. Whenever you came from there, that cheap cliché sickening smell. That fucking hurt." She didn't yell, she didn't even raise her voice. She spoke the words softly, no sharp edges, in a low voice. And yet each word was like a lash of a whip. Everything was real now and he felt sickness raising and making him almost double over. He wished he could just leave and all what held him back was one simple thought: You'll never need to come back then. _This is the one and last chance you'll ever get._

"You knew...?"

"Of course I knew. But you know what's even worse? This. Here. Now. Just when you...just when we were...And I...I just...I just can't...I can't even tell you how I...fuck, Quinn, just fuck."

And it was true. She couldn't even finish the sentence, let alone bear to have him look at her, expectantly and hurt, a single second longer or share a bed with him or let him touch her or allow him to see her cry. Especially not allow him to see her cry. It was all just too much.

She jumped out of the bed, rushed out of the room, just away from there, through the dark hallway into the living room and curled up on the couch, tears streaming down her face now, exhaustion and despair and just everything crushing down on her.

Quinn still sat on the bed. He heard her. Of course he did. There was nothing wrong with his hearing. He just didn't know what to do. Until yesterday this would have been the moment to leave.

" _Problems with trust, closeness, communication, and problem solving are normal symptoms. These problems affect the way you act with others. In turn, the way others respond to you affects you. A circular pattern can develop that may sometimes harm relationships irreversibly_."

He almost heard his shrink's voice.

_Irreversibly. Here we go._

So he got up.

His leg having a cramp just then was neither helpful nor welcome.

Carefully maneuvering himself into a standing position he had to realize that the events of the long day and the night took the better of him too.

_Sometimes forward is the only way out._

He had no idea if there was a way out. But going through his options provided just two of these, both equally painful: staying or leaving. And as leaving would be retreat and probably breaking that last straw of a connection...it would be staying, even with every strain of his consciousness opted for leaving, flight instict kicking in and wanting to take over.

But remembering those precious moments tonight before sleep had claimed both of them, those surreal moments of clarity, when they'd just gravitated towards each other as if it was what they were meant to be...how she'd snuggled against him, nestled herself into his arm and chest, her hand again clenched into his side, he remembered his last thought while he had been drifting between exhaustion and sleep.

_This is how it should be. This is where I wanna be. Not only now. Always._

And then just less than half an hour ago when he'd felt her hands on his skin, so careful, probing, hesitating...he'd been willing to let it all go, had been just giving in.

_Because this is what I want. It's always been about her. I tried to bury it, to get rid of it, to shake it off, I put myself out there over and over again, I went through hell and back - and couldn't make it stop. Because this is what I want. And she wants it too. At least wanted it. Until a few minutes ago._

_Sometimes - forward is the only way out._

And yet he had no idea if he was doing the right thing.

But instead of sneaking out of her appartment he turned towards her living room, slowly crossing the hallway while hearing her sobbing.

Not his comfort zone.

She laid on the couch, fetal position, a small, shaking and shivering ball, and couldn't stop crying.

He slowly moved closer, unsure about if or where to sit down. In the end, as crouching down on the floor just was not an option for his leg, he sat at the far end of the couch, a few inches away from her naked feet, two white spots in the grey dark of the night.

"Carrie...", he knew he had to try, "...I just don't know what to say...but I'll just sit here...and...I'll leave if you want me to leave...."

" _We can't take your past away. This will stay with you forever. There's no running away or hiding."_ Another piece of his shrink's wisdom. He wished he could make her shut up.

She didn't stop crying but she didn't send him away either. Although he had no idea if this was actually a good sign. Or if it just didn't matter anymore to her.

Like a fly on the wall. Present, irritating, but in the end not important enough to care.

Carrie noticed him being there. Of course she did. But it was beyond her to react or even offer any kind of reconciliation.

She'd known that he'd been seeing someone all the way. And when she'd once followed him in his very early Brooklyn days she'd learnt where he'd been going. And then it had been easy, the cheap smell an unmistakable indicator. And she'd honestly thought - as much as it hurt - she could be forgiving and understanding. That wasn't about them. It was about sex. She had had sex with other men and had used sex to hurt men. And had probably hurt him along the way too, Aayan still lingering unpleasantly in her mind after recalling his fate earlier that night. But just now and here she'd realized how much and deep it hurt.

She'd always thought as soon as he'd be better he'd be back to being Quinn. That she would be enough for him. He never had asked her for anything, or to be different, never in all those years, not in the long gone past, not in Berlin and not ever since. She'd always been good enough for him, just the way she was. That's what she finally had tried to trust in and to believe.

And now she was there, had been there for months now, and he didn't open up, didn't trust her, didn't rely on her but turned to somebody else. She'd given all she had. And still...it hadn't been enough, she was just not enough.

It had felt right tonight when he came home. No questions, no answers just being together. For some precious hours it felt right. Not to have to spend this night alone but with him, holding and comforting each other. Finally all pretense gone.

And although she already had known about his recent adventures and had been convincing herself she could deal with it, that is was not about them, when he'd said it in her bedroom just a moment before they were about to fuck or make love or whatever inbetween - it had been a too painful reality. She'd felt exposed, vulnerable and all she could do was vanish, into herself and out of the room.

And now he sat there, a few inches away from her, in her dark living room. The cold light from the street latern opposite her building cast a few rays of light in the room, throwing deep shadows left and right. She could see Quinn's face, motionless and dark, probably it cost him all he had not to run away. She realized that it was her decision to make. He'd made his and if she wasn't able to give him anything now he'd be gone soon. And she wasn't sure if they'd ever find a way back then.

He'd always been willing to forgive and not to hold her decisions against her. And she remembered that one night in October when Max had brought him here. When she'd begged him to start therapy and fight once more.

_I promised to be there all the way._

So maybe it was time to live up to her promise.

He felt her moving and wondered if she'd ask him to leave now or if she'd just leave the room. But he couldn't do more or say more, as much as he thought he should. It was just beyond him.

Carrie knelt next to him now on the couch on her folded legs, it was an awkward position to get up. He couldn't even bear to look at her so he kept his gaze towards the dark shadows.

Her touch was elusive and hesistant, her hand slowly coming down on his left hand, then snaking into his hand, fingers closing around his, he knew she was well aware that it was _that_ hand. She leant in, against his shoulder, and started crying again when he pulled her into his lap and folded her into his right arm. She couldn't move, her face buried in his chest and his grip tightly wound around her shoulder but felt him crying too, his chest was trembling every now and then when he tried to take a calming deep breath while they sat there for a long while, holding on to each other.

The sounds of the city were awakening, the corner shop got an early morning delivery, the garbage truck cast orange lights into the room, a distant car alarm went on and off again, he heard cracking wooden boards in the upper appartment, probably a neighbor getting up early, and they sat in Carrie's living room, both afraid to let go and both too exhausted and overwhelmed for the imminent conversation.

Quinn noticed her feet being icecold through the fabric of his pants and wondered if he maybe should just comment the obvious - fearing any heavier topics anyway.

"Carrie...you are cold and need some rest."

She was still clutched against his chest, her arms around him for some time now and if he hadn't been so exhausted and she so cold he'd just sat there all night long, not letting go of her.

"And you?"

"Probably too."

"Then come."

"Carrie..."

"God, Quinn, stop looking at me like this. I've no idea either. But I just can't stand the idea of waking up in the morning and you being gone by then. So let's go back to bed. It's not that you caught something which will jump at me. And so I'll at least notice if you try to sneak out."

It was the only way how she could invite him back, a mockery of her old bluntness, and he felt a surge of tenderness raising in his chest for her trying so desperately to cope.

So he took the hand she offered and followed her back to her bedroom where she crawled under her duvet right away as he sat at the edge of the bed.

"Quinn....", her voice was much softer now again, "don't make it even harder as it already is. Please."

In the end he gave in - it had always been their dynamic anyway and maybe it was time to switch back into that pattern, especially now as what she was asking for was exactly what he wanted too.

He sank back into the soft sheets, his body begging for some rest.

Carrie's eyes rested on him, still swollen and red from crying, but much calmer now, at least that was what he was hoping to see.

She looked at him while he settled on his side, facing her and wondering what they were heading to. He'd slept in that bed before, he'd even cried here before, it was kind of getting an embarrassing habit, and yet it felt differently now.

"Carrie...I...I'm so sorry. It shouldn't have been like this...and I am so sorry. No. Please don't cry again. Just know I'm sorry."

"Why? Just tell me why?"

_So we're back to the girls. Of course we are. And I better come up with an answer. An honest one._

"Anger. Fear. Stupidity. It was easier than building or interacting in real relationships, I guess. I'm not proud on it. And I'm so sorry."

She was weighing his answer, he could see that. But at least she didn't cry.

"I...I'm not judging. I of all people probably shouldn't say anything at all. But it fucking hurt. And it might stay with me for a while."

"I get that."

He understood that, he really did, and wondered what 'a while' meant.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"What changed? Thursday?"

"Let's talk about that some other day. You need some rest."

As if objection ever had been helpful with Carrie, he thought, a half smile flashing over his face, but she indeed fell silent then and he was pretty sure she'd fall asleep any second.

"Will you still be here when I wake up? Will there be some other day?"

"I will", and then, after a beat, "I promise."

A second later he felt her hand in his and saw her closing her eyes, Morpheus finally taking her again. Just when he was about to drift into comatose sleep too he felt two iceblocks mingling with his legs and pressing into his calfs.

So his last effort for the day was raising his arm and pulling her close, to keep her warm and safe for the remaining hours of the short night.

 

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more. Very soon. I know this chapter took long but it was tricky. I sent myself on the quest to adress the issue of the STIs and it took me a while to figure out what that confession would make with them. Cause it's not that Carrie was a saint for the majority of the time we've been knowing her.
> 
> Maybe I will post the 'outtakes' one day, several scenes took me more than one attempt.
> 
> I thank Laure and Zeffy for being such patient, funny and honest counterparts in discussing these plot-related issues.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Quinn's confession.

  
When Carrie woke up he was gone.

_What have I been expecting?_

But still she felt sick and sad and betrayed. She'd really thought there could be a way to...

"Hey", he appeared in the door jamb.

"God. Quinn. You just scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry."

He was awake since about an hour ago and although he'd enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of waking up next to Carrie - or more waking up wrapped around Carrie - he'd felt anxiety creeping in, slowly but increasingly while regaining some conscious thinking.

So he'd gotten up, carefully not to wake her, unable to think about a way how to start the day in bed with her after all what had happened last night.

He'd spent a good part of that hour in the living room, standing by the window and watching the snow falling while having a cup of coffee.

He wasn't sure what the morning would bring - let alone the day or the week. But he thought it might be a good idea to stick to his promise and stay, even as fidgety as he felt.

When he heard the rustling of the sheets he poured some fresh coffee in his mug and went back to her bedroom, still awed by the fact that he'd spent all night there, even after his mandatory yet misplaced confession.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

She took the mug and leant back into the pillow as he leant against the door jamb, apparently already showered and dressed for the day.

She could see he was tense and wondered if it would be always like this. Or if there would be a day in the future where a Saturday morning with coffee in bed would feel comfortable and as good as it should.

"Wanna sit down a moment?"

"Sure."

She offered him the mug when he was seated on the edge of the bed and that was how they started the day, taking alternating sips from the mug, and she saw how his shoulders were slowly relaxing. And she felt herself relaxing too.

Unfortunately even with a large mug there came the moment when all the coffee was gone.

But he offered both of them a way out when he commented on the contents of her fridge.

"I'd made toast. Just...you don't have any. And your fridge is empty as well."

"Sorry. I thought I'd be away all week."

"We could go and have breakfast somewhere."

Carrie wasn't prepared for the surge of warmth she felt running through her guts so she resolutely put the mug down on her nightstand and got out of bed, heading towards the bathroom.

"Give me ten."

He got a glimpse of naked thighs when she passed him and then she was gone and he wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing or if he should have tried to tell her how he felt. But he felt like any other heavy emotional conversations were beyond his capacities for today. So, breakfast  
then.

He heard her taking a quick shower and his brain supplied a not very helpful memory of her breasts under his hand and mouth.

 _God_.

Soon enough she was ready to go and he allowed himself to look at her for a second longer. She still looked tired, of course she did, but he thought she made a bit of an effort and had applied some discreet make up. Not that he needed her to make an effort but he liked thinking she did it for him.

"You look beautiful."

_Huh, where did that come from?_

He could see she was irritated and even blushing a bit, her cheeks got rosy and she busied herself with her new keys.

_It's as difficult for her as it is for me._

And somehow that thought was comforting.

He took her to the deli he'd been to with Dar. It hadn't been that bad, quite the opposite actually, and he suddenly wanted her to know that he was capable of doing normal things and knew nice places - not just shady areas of the city and liquor stores.

It was cold, still lots of snow, although dirty now except the fresh snowflakes slowly settling on their coats.

They had walked one block when he felt her arm looping through his, and then when he was just about to decline help, he could just walk fine on his own, her fingers slowly invaded his coat pocket. So it wasn't about offering help.

 _Moron_.

He closed his fingers around hers and was stunned by the developments of the last 24 hours.

They resumed talking after two more blocks when reaching Bensonhurst neighborhood, known as Little Italy in the fifties, and passing window fronts full of cheeses, pasta and prosciutto which offered a welcome distraction and topic.

They were soon into discussing similarities and differences between these immigrants and today's immigrants, with Carrie pointing out the huge difficulties for foreigners to fund and open their own businesses these days.

He opened the door for her and sadly had to let go of her hand but was determined to keep the tone light. They both could use some relief and lightness.

After they'd places their orders she took a moment to look at him. She liked what she saw. He looked calm and rested. And she even got a small smile.

"You've been here before?"

"Yeah. With Dar."

"Classy."

They both smiled and it felt good.

Their breakfast arrived, Quinn had been gone a bit wild on the menu and had ordered scrambled eggs with mushrooms and tomatoes, bread, different cheeses and cold cuts, cake, fruits and granola, sweet rolls, orange juice and coffee - and realized just then that he had no idea what she liked to eat for breakfast. So he ordered all he could think of. At least it would take them a while to finish that, he thought.

Carrie, petite as she was, seemed to have a good appetite, he liked that, and started with the eggs and mushrooms and some orange juice before moving on to bread and cheese.

He emptied his plate with scrambled eggs carefully, afraid of any mishaps which still happened to occur with his fucked fine motor skills.

They had a casual conversation about nothing really important, just this and that and a welcome break, and so he missed when she started preparing some bread with cold cuts and cut it into pieces before she shoved it over the table into his direction, putting on bite into her own mouth.

"Carrie...can you please stop that? I'm an adult man, not your child."

She was taken aback, he could see that and immediately regretted his harsh tone.

"Carrie...I...just don't victimize me. I...can't have that. Not from you."

"I just wanted to help you, Quinn."

"I can do it on my own."

"Sure. Show me."

"What the fuck?"

"Prepare a sandwich and cut it into pieces."

"This is not show and tell session. We're not at Frannie's kindergarden."

"No, we are not. But you can't do it."

"Right. Ten points, Carrie. Satisfied?"

"No. You don't give me that now. You can't do it and that is fucking fine. I don't care. I have handicaps far worse than this."

"Sure."

"So unless you don't wanna order some soup or more scrambled eggs..."

"Stop it."

"You stop it. If I'd been stubborn like you Saul would be dead. Or I'd be dead. Fuck Quinn, it's the same thing. People try to help each other and do nice things when they...when they..."

"When they?"

"Yeah, when they."

"When they what?" She saw his attitude melting and it was beautiful. His shoulders relaxed, his expression was much softer now and he looked right into her eyes.

"Are friends. And...maybe...Fuck. Quinn."

He couldn't help it but had to laugh at her indignant and exasperated expression.

"Maybe?"

"You're fucking enjoying yourself, huh?"

But she had to smile to, and when he pulled the plate towards himself and started eating without breaking eyecontact she smiled even broader.

They didn't return to difficult topics before finishing their meal, they just sat, ate, drank coffee and talked about innocuous topics. Frannie, Max, the snow.

Soon it would be time for her to leave. And she wasn't sure how to break the topic so she procrastinated. Things were feeling right, right now, and she figured they both needed a few moments of feeling alright.

He had settled the bill when she came back from the bathroom, of course he had, and she didn't comment on it, knowing she couldn't take that away from him too. If she had to cut his food into bite sized pieces he would pay, get her coat and open the door for her. And she thought she didn't even not like it - for once not being in charge of everything. She just thanked him and went tippytoes to kiss his cheek and got one of his signature small smiles in return. A brief one but a smile.

So they were about a hundred yards away from the deli, slowly walking back into the direction of her appartment when she took a deep breath, hoping to find the right words. Her hand was buried in his coat pocket again and she felt his fingers closing around hers when she started talking.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll go back to my sister's house today."

"Sure. Getting Frannie."

"Yes. Or no. At least not today. I think I'll stay for a few days longer. Maybe a week."

He let go of her hand.

_You really got me here, Carrie. For about 12 hours I really thought...I really hoped..._

Carrie hurried now to finish her thought, feeling how he was already withdrawing. A non-descript van, just one dirt stained window, passed by.

_Just like the one Bibi had._

"Quinn. I just need a few days. Not as break from you. You still could come with me. I asked you before. I have some sessions at Langley. But first and foremost I'll need some help and rest over the next few days. I've been off my meds for about a day. Which is not much. But I'm afraid...And with all what happened...it'll kick in sooner or later. All my professional choices...once again...that will have an impact when it trickles in. I am facing some decisions. And I fear I won't be able to care for Frannie the way I should then. So I might need my sister's help. I need a break. I learnt that. Without breaks and taking care of myself things still go down the drain pretty quicker...and with all what happened...Quinn?"

It was hard. Because he didn't feel well but more like the most selfish shitbag known to mankind. Of course she was not just his own personal...whatever...and he should be glad - proud was too much of a patronizing word - for her handling her condition so responsibly. But he didn't want her to leave.

_We've been at this juncture before. Missouri. Syria._

"Quinn? Can you please say something?"

He couldn't. Everything was suddenly so surreal again, last night had never happened, and how could he even think life would hand out second chances and she would leave now and -

_Bibi. Kosovo. Syria. Van. Carrie gone. Gas chamber. Misjudging. A fucking fatal mistake. God. Not now. Please not now. Focus. Fuck._

"Quinn", her voice suddenly piercing and louder, "Quinn, damn it. Look at me. Stop it. Don't cave now. Just keep breathing. Let's sit over there. Look at me. Take a deep breath. Feel my hand. Look at me."

Slowly things came into focus again. He felt her fingers on his wrist, tapping, and focused on his breathing, like she told him. They sat on the front steps of a small coffee shop, it was still snowing, he saw three cabs passing and a woman in a red coat walking a dog. She had a bag with groceries.

_Focus on details. I can do this. Just not a full blown flashback now. I need to stay here. Breathing, focusing, her tapping fingers. Focus on details. It works._

"Damn, Quinn, what was that? Sorry. I know it's not your fault. I...just...that came so quickly. You okay now?"

The whole episode had been less than three minutes and she saw him taking a deep breath, and then another one. He was back when he looked at her, she could see it in his eyes.

"Shit, Carrie...I'm..."

"Yeah. I know. It's okay now, isn't it?"

Her fingers were still on his wrist, a gentle touch on his artery now.

"Yeah. It's better. Sorry. I don't know what triggered it."

_Well, maybe I do know but I certainly won't talk about it._

But Carrie being Carrie wouldn't let go, he should know by now, and so he wasn't surprised when she still scrutinized him and was waiting for a more satisfying answer. But he wouldn't give in - but she did. And that was new.

"Quinn. This is not Missouri, isn't it? You'll still be here when I come back, will you? And you can join us any time, just say so. This is not Missouri - okay?"

They'd never spoken about that day. She'd never explained or told him why she'd left - neither had he. But that would be a discussion for another day, he decided. So he just nodded and took another deep breath.

They sat until Carrie complained about getting a cold ass which made him smile at the secret thought that there might be a day where he could offer not only to warm her feet but her ass too. And of course she caught him flat footed and nudged her elbow in his side.

_When did that start? That we can make jokes and feel comfortable around each other?_

So he finally got up and offered her his hand to help her up and didn't let go then.

"Where's your car?"

"In a garage near my apartment."

"Can you give me the adress? I'll get the guys there."

"Guys?", Carrie was flabbergasted, "you put surveillance on me?"

"On your appartment. Just outside. They'll follow you. There's another team outside your sister's house. Don't worry", he hurried saying when he saw her face, "she never saw them. She can't know they are there. Carrie, this was Javadi. You pulled it off alone once. But as long as we don't know what he's up to I  
couldn't allow any risk. And certainly not that that scumbag goes after Frannie. I should have told you. I'm sorry."

"Agency?"

"Kind of."

"So Adal's group."

"My group. My unit. My guys. Carrie, they do this for me. This is no agency thing. Or at least wasn't in the beginning. Adal didn't even know about the team in Bethesda before last night."

"When did you sent them there?"

"When I was in your house yesterday morning."

"God. Quinn. Will this ever stop?" He could see how it trickled in. They hadn't spoken about Javadi yet. He'd decided to keep that for another day, had hoped to be able to give her some rest. But now it was back again.

"I don't know Carrie. Maybe I was overreacting. But I'd feel better to know you and Frannie are safe. Just in case."

"Well, then. Call your guy. He's not around now? You didn't have someone watching us, did you?"

"No."

He walked her to her garage and as his former teammate was nowhere to be seen yet, he walked her inside where they paused next to her car.

Carrie didn't want to leave and suddenly felt she should have said more, done more and should have insisted on him coming with her.

"Quinn...you still could come."

"No. Carrie. There are some things I need to take care of."

_Like getting tested for STIs._

"Right. Well, then...", she looked at him, "thank you for this morning. We never did that before, just going for breakfast."

"No, we didn't."

"I liked it."

"We could do it again."

"We could."

"Yeah."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Quinn, this is the part where you say 'How about next week, do you have time?' And I say 'Yes, I'd like that, I'll call you.'"

She saw him smiling, a real smile, she saw something changing in his eyes and then she didn't saw anything anymore because he bent down and kissed her.

Just a short kiss, nothing else, and then they heard a car arriving and parted, but she quickly stretched and kissed him once more. Just because they could do this now. And because it felt so good, exciting and good, and she wanted to remember how it felt.

"You'll be here when I come back?"

"Not here. It's a bit cold down here. But in New York, yes."

She smiled and gave him a brief hug.

"Bye, Quinn. I'll let you know when I'm there."

"Bye Carrie."

She saw him walking down the road when she left the garage, a tall familiar figur slowly walking through the snow.

It had been a good morning, she thought, looking forward to see Frannie soon now.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie left to see her family, Quinn stays in New York,taking care of some serious issues.

Carrie texted him later that day and her message made him laugh. And when had that ever happened?

"Arrived. Traffic was bad. Just had a stealthy coffee with Rob in his cosy van. He's the night shift. He says, and I quote, 'holy fuck, tell that fucking dumb asshole he is a damn lucky moron' - I guess he was referring to you? Anyway, he seems nice despite his liking for sweetener. I mean, really? Black ops and all and sweetener?"

So he texted Rob "She told me the 'asshole', dumbass."

Rob's reply was "Try not to fuck it up, she's a force, just saying."

And that was pretty much all amusement for the rest of the day.

As he had no idea what to answer he kept that for later.

He went to a clinic he'd found through a website called Test Express and the questionnaire he'd to answer online to get his appointment gave him some foreboding of what to expect. Which was unpleasant. God, even in his Venezuela years he'd been more careful. But he had it coming and so he made an appointment for the same afternoon, eight tests for the most common STIs. Package price.

So he went there, underwent the physical exams, answered ridiculous questions about his sexual preferences and any kind of rashes, pain, itches, problems with discharge and only God knows what else and let them get all kind of swabs and probes and braced himself for the unevitable lecture about the necessity to talk to his partner about potential STDs or to stop having sex til he had his results.  
He saw no point in telling them anything about his so called relationship status, only information he provided was that his blood count had been fine three months ago. That the nurses recognized him wasn't helpful. Even the doctor gave him a quizzical once over when he had undressed but then decided to stick to professional discretion.

He was informed that he'd get all results three days later, just the HIV test needed to be re-done six weeks after the last intercourse to make sure he wasn't infected. But using condoms would provide a high level of security, just in case, and he got a friendly reminder that usage was mandatory as well during foreplay or oral sex.

_Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful._

His mind couldn't come up with any worser way to spend his afternoon. But it had to be done.

His invoice included a box of condoms named Control Forte Extra Safe and a nice brochure with pleasant pictures of STD, well, evidence - as if someone who came to the clinic didn't feel already unwell enough. He shoved both items deep down into his pocket, only taking the condoms to avoid the discussion he'd have if he wouldn't take them.

They offered him a sample size of Juicy Lube Tantalizing Tangerine as well but he managed to resist. The guy after him at the cashier's desk took Passion Fruit and even made a dirty joke about it towards the poor nurse.

_God. Juicy Lube._

No wonder he was in a very foul mood when coming back home.

Max suprised comment didn't help.

"What are you doing here? Don't tell me you managed to fuck it up. She wanted to see you-", but Quinn cut in before Max could go further.

"I was there, she is fine, I brought her to her car, she is at her sister's now, spending a few days with her family."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Why are you still here? I thought you finally got some things sorted out. Given the fact you haven't been here all night."

"Do I have to explain myself now for staying out after curfew?"

"No. But as she was in a really bad stage yesterday I wanna know how she is."

That strong statement softened Quinn's attitude a bit, Max had no chance of knowing what the state of affairs between Carrie and him was.

"She's fine. She already arrived safely. I have a team monitoring the surroundings, just in case, and she already had coffee with them."

"Good. Anything else? Like, why you are here and not there?"

"She needed some space."

"Sure."

"She did. People do, sometimes."

_Except Max right now. Max doesn't need space right now. And certainly won't grant it either._

"After asking me twenty times where you are. And after collapsing into your arms yesterday morning and probably night as well - she needed some space. Sure. What did you do?"

"Nothing Max. It's...complicated..."

"Certainly", Max' voice was dripping with an emotion now Quinn couldn't quite figure out, "because things with you are never easy, huh?"

"Right."

"Let me tell you this. When you went AWOL in Islamabad - I know I helped you because I believed in you doing the right thing - and Carrie's father died you were all she wanted. She asked for you. Only you. And she was so worried that she didn't rush home to be with her family but stayed in that shithole to find you. Next thing I hear is you're back but then suddenly leave for Syria in no time. Fast forward 2.5 years later. I watch the news and think 'holy fuck, I know that guy'. Takes me a while then to learn you survived and that Carrie is involved. But suddenly she is here in New York. Because of you. Because therapy is best here. Just as soon as you can make your own decisions you stop therapy, at least the physical stuff. Because you don't want to get better? And again start that painful dance with her. Orbiting around her but not letting her really in. And here comes the thing: she doesn't run away. She doesn't even complain. She just lets it happen. Because she changed. Question is: Did you change too? Because Syria or whores and quitting therapy - it's more or less the same purpose, isn't it?"

Quinn said nothing.

"So whatever happened last night, make a fucking decision. Stay with her or leave her but make a decision."

"Yeah."

"I know she can be annoying as fuck. Erratic. Volatile. Grate your nerves. I wouldn't survive a week with her. But you and she..."

"Max. Please."

"She changed a lot recently. She really tried to keep her shit together. For you. So what else do you need to stop this dance?"

Quinn realized that Max wouldn't stop insisting, probably last day's events had triggered some memories and remorse. The thing was just - he really could use a break just now. Desperately. But apparently that wish wouldn't be granted too soon as long as he wouldn't just walk away.

"What? Quinn? What?"

"It's not me who needs more from her. She needs something from me", and with that he produced the now crumbled bill from Test Express from his pocket and threw it on the counter. It didn't matter anymore, Max knew it anyway and he was beyond matters of dignity or privacy or...just anything.

Max had a look at the sheet and had the decency to look ashamed.

"Oh...that's...annoying...a dealbreaker, I guess."

And then he smirked. He tried to hide it - but he smirked.

"You are an ass for going their in the first place. But Carrie being Carrie...I guess in the end she'll credit you for being honest. I mean, at least you told her instead of going rogue."

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

"Max. I certainly won't-"

"God. So even worse than I thought. Hopefully not while you were-", but one stare from Quinn made him re-evaluate and change the route, "She's still talking to you?"

Quinn finally tossed his jacket aside and plunged on the couch, with a deep sigh.

"She is. And can we switch to other delightful topics now? Maybe watch a nature documentation on discovery channel?"

"Sure. Although I was thinking Citizen Kane. Ever saw it?"

"No. But why not."

So the day ended peacefully. With a movie, hot soup and two beers.

He only answered Carrie when he went to bed, not sure what to write. All he wanted to say felt not appropriate for a text and little he knew what she thought and felt about the last days now. And although he still could recall the sensation of her last kiss she suddenly felt far away. So after pondering for a while he just wrote a simple "Good Night".

He didn't sleep well that night and Sunday wasn't good either. He felt like something had been unlocked and he had no way to govern where his mind went.

Monday was shrink-day. And although there was no way to tell most of the last days' events he probably should tell that he'd managed to snap out of a beginning flashback without a horrific display of weakness and rolling in the dirt.

As expected she was satisfied with his progress. Unexpectedly, not enough to grant him a break.

"How do you feel about it?"

"Relieved? Usually it was much worse. Although I'd rather have it go away. I mean, having to sit down on a Brooklyn street and having someone tapping your wrist while you focus on your breathing because a van passed by is not exactly what I'd call normal and healthy."

"So that's what you wanna be? Normal and healthy?"

"Doesn't everybody want that?"

"The life you led before the recent incidents doesn't necessarily classify as 'normal'."

"It's not that I'm in the shape to go back to it."

"Would you like to go back to it?"

"No. Or yes. Not all of it. But a purpose..."

She really got me here. One minute guard down and she got me here.

"Peter, I know it is difficult, but it will work. You are already better. So far we just worked with your traumas and coping with them. This is the purpose of this program. But to get really and truely better there are two more things to be done: you have to consider what you wanna do next. And you should allow yourself to grieve for what you lost. Feel what you feel. It is normal to feel a range of emotions. Having these feelings is to be expected. How you deal with them is most important. Stop holding back."

Quinn said nothing and so she changed her route.

"You said someone was tapping your wrist. So you weren't alone."

"No."

"Who was with you? Did you tell that person what to do in case you need help?"

Quinn didn't like the progress of that route either but apparently he was so out of everything that even a shrink could make him in no time.

"She knew what to do. She's been there before."

"So it's Carrie."

"Yeah."

"Good. How did it feel, accepting her help?"

"It's not that I had a lot of choices."

"I get that."

"It was okay. I mean she knows anyway."

"Can you talk with her about your memories and triggers?"

"No."

"Clarify, would you? You cannot or she doesn't wanna know?"

"I don't know if she wants to know. It's not exactly a firework of cheerful memories. But it's not that she says she doesn't want me to talk about it."

"Did you ever share some of your memories with her? Or some of the work you do here?"

"I did."

"What was that?"

"I told her about a few things from long ago. Some memories from Iraq amd Afghanistan."

"How did that feel?"

"I just told her. She asked and I saw no point in lying to her."

"Did that change anything? Do you think it changed the way she sees you or interacts with you?"

Quinn didn't answer and the woman knew he wouldn't answer. Which hadn't been the goal if the question anyway. She knew by now how private Peter Quinn was. But she knew as well that he would consider her question and a possible answer for himself. And with all her years of experience in working with veterans she knew he'd reached a pivotal point - he'd opened up and allowed someone to have a glimpse of what was haunting him.

If Carrie Matthison's reaction had been like she expected her to be - she knew her from the family support group - Peter Quinn had not been disappointed but had received support and sympathy.

She couldn't talk about Peter Quinn's specific case with her colleague running the support group Carrie Mathison frequently visited. But she had observed two of the meetings and seen a woman with a no-nonsense expression who had insisted on understanding what suffering PTSD victims felt and what family and friends could do to help. And she knew about Carrie's reputation - she'd more or less blackmailed Peter Quinn into the program with just two days notice. Due to the fact that Peter Quinn had the highest security clearance of all patients who'd ever been through the program she'd only gotten access to some of his files and Carrie Matthison and he seemed to go quite some time back together.

So for the first time in weeks she was confident that Peter Quinn might have reached a turning point - and it wasn't a surprise that it had been Carrie who helped him to get there.

Peter Quinn had made an attempt to break the circular miscommunication pattern that was a common and severe thread for all relationships of PTSD victims. And apparently had received support and affection in return.

So she just leant back and asked him to make some homework for his next session.

"Peter, I want you to write down how it felt to talk about your memories. And if you think you could do it again. You don't have to share it with me. But I want you to write it."

"Like a journal?"

She knew that reluctant stare by now. And she knew he would do his homework. Because somehow, as severe as his multiple traumas were, he was still determined to fight his way back. Because he had something or maybe someone who kept him going.

"Peter, let's finish for today. For our remaining sessions we'll focus on your ability to get yourself out of a flashback. You can start trying on your own if you feel safe enough to do so at home. If not we'll do it together here, next appointment is Wednesday, isn't it?"

\---------------------

Carrie enjoyed being back with her daughter. Being with Frannie helped her to store away some of the horrible encounters of the last days - at least for the time being and during daytime. The night were difficult though.

She shared a bed with Frannie which helped in a way. Because looking at her sleeping daughter or feeling her small, warm and chubby hand searching for her mommy grounded her in a way nothing else ever had.

Although it made it more difficult in another way. She was afraid to scare Frannie with a potential nightmare so often she got up again when Frannie was asleep and wandered restlessly up and down, just to collapse utterly spent on the couch then in the middle of the night.

Maggie noticed something was not okay, although "not okay" was probably the understatement of the year. But she couldn't tell her the latest ordeal. How could she explain that her agency past still was a life threatening danger? How could she explain that someone she - famous for her hunches - had let into her life had been turning tables with her like Reza had?

Reza. He reached out to her via Saul. She had another debrief session at Langley on Tuesday and Saul informed her quietly, very Saul, that Reza was asking to see her. She'd deal with it back in New York.

She saw Dr Velkers and upped her mood stabilizers and anti-depressant. She couldn't give her the exact reason as she whole ordeal was classified so she blamed the long and grey winter ahead of them. She could see her therapist was questioning her motives and so she added that there were personal struggles.

"You know you can talk to me Carrie, don't you?"

"I know. But it's not something I'm yet ready to talk about. Just that - you know my friend, the one who came back from the recent wars, he opened up and we talk now."

"That's good for him."

Dr Velkers had an idea who that friend might be, she knew Carrie for nearly fifteen years now.

"I think so. And I wanna be there for him."

"But?"

"It's hard. What he's telling...is doing something with me too...and I just wanna be prepared not to slip away back into..."

"That's good Carrie. It's the right thing to do. You can always adjust your meds when your life's altering. And that goes both ways. We can always lower you again after winter or when you think you are ready."

"Yeah."

"Carrie. There is no reason to feel guilty for adjusting the dose. You are managing your condition responsibly. Instead of allowing your condition to reign you. Which is absolutely the right thing. Be proud. You came a long way."

She saw Saul several times. And in a twisted way it helped to deal with the last days. Because he knew what had happened and she didn't have to pretend to be on a happy relaxed week with the family, an extended holiday, but could talk about her disappointment and hurt. Saul knew what betrayal felt like.

She ended the conversation each and every time when he asked her to come back, he needed her in the Javadi situation more than ever. That was still forbidden ground.

"You can't really think that I'll even consider it? Especially not after last week. Put my life out there? My daughter's life?"

"Think about it Carrie. You left three years ago and he still tracked you. What gives you the indication he might stop now? Within the agency you can be a step ahead of him. As a civilian...well, just think about last week...within the agency you might be safer than outside."

That conversation ended the short reconciliation between her and Saul. What had she been expecting?

\-----------------------

Quinn did his homework although it felt ridiculous. _A fucking journal. Dear diary._ He burned the page after writing.

Which didn't mean he didn't remember what he had written. _And of course that had been the purpose of the whole fucking homework. Damn that shrink._

Of course he knew that Thanksgiving might have been a turning point. That it had been the best evening ever since Berlin. That talking to Carrie suddenly was an option. That she hadn't detested or repulsed him. That all those carefully buried emotions were still there, somewhere deep down.

And that was just Thanksgiving. Not the day that had followed then. And the night. And their breakfast on Saturday. That they were - _yeah, what are we?_

He knew he probably should call Carrie. But what should he say? _I miss you - which would be the most honest option. When will you be back? I went for STI testing and will get my results tomorrow. And in the light of the day it feels even more horrible and downright fucking dumb and I an so sorry. Can you forgive me? How are you? Are you okay? Do you sleep at night? We probably should talk about Berlin but it scares the living shit out of me. But I want you to know none of this now is your fault. But knowing you were there all the way..._

Well, he probably should call her. But could he say any of these? So he sent her a text instead.

"How are you?"

\---------------------------

"How are you?"

Classic Quinn.

"More or less okay. And you?"

"Same. Wanna go for breakfast next week again?"

"Hey Quinn. Are you asking me for a date?"

"Maybe."

That made her smile. And when had a text from Quinn ever put a smile on her face before?

\--------------------------

He had stopped physical therapy in October. And felt childish and stupid now for doing so.

As far as he remembered there were still chances for further progress. But his recollection of those months between July and October had some embarrassing blurry passages. He knew this was normal, his shrink had explained him several times that shutting down and going on autopilot was an important protective mechanism of the human brain, a way to protect itself from trauma overexposure, but still it felt strange and wrong. He'd been trained nearly all his life to compartmentalize and store away the deeds he committed for a living. The same went for the circumstances he saw or endured during his tours. Sometimes it had been easier, sometimes harder. But never before had that compartment been unlocked completely. And now it was like he wasn't able to stop the memories and recollections coming, it was a constant flow and he couldn't stop them. So drifting or shutting down had been the only chance to get a break.

But maybe it was time for a visit at the PT centre and have an honest talk about his perspectives.

His Wednesday therapy session was horrible. Learning to master a flashback himself required deliberately recalling memories, places, cruelities - and as much as he understood the procedure itself as horrific was it each and every time.

Afterwards he was to done in to call the PT centre or to check his test result with the clinic.

So that was Thursday's programme before another therapy session.

Carrie called that night. It was the first time they spoke since Saturday but they'd sent texts once or twice a day.

Little things like "Hey Quinn, that Starbucks I told you about messed up my app order again" or "Thanks for the tomato soup. Pumpkin was better, says Max" and then an answer which made him chuckle "Did he check the best before? I bought them a week ago, maybe it's living pumpkin now"

He knew he was avoiding any substantial topics, and so was she. But it was a life line, a welcome tiny bit of normal life.

\------------------

Carrie knew she was avoiding any substantial topics but it felt too raw and too new to touch. And she was afraid to destroy the new and fragile dynamic they'd found over those three days in New York.

But they were in touch. Texting nonsense but in touch.

But over the course of the week she realized that she wouldn't be able to go back to New York and to work by the end of the week. She needed a break.

Elisabeth had tried to call her several times and finally had texted her she'd be in Washington Thursday and wanted to meet her for lunch.

That lunch had been today and she was facing some professional decisions. Elisabeth needed an answer and couldn't wait much longer. And with Reza being out of the foundation's equitation, she had no idea how she should go on there.

She was tired, but being in Maggie's constantly busy presence - as much as part of her was enjoying it - wasn't helpful and relaxing. But seeing how much happier Frannie was in her old home as part of a bigger family gave her a sting too.

She often wondered how Quinn was doing these days and missed seeing him every day. One morning she fell back into sleep when Frannie had gotten up at an unduly early hour and dreamt of him. Nothing specific, fragments, but for a precious short moment she'd felt his imaginary presence next to her when she woke up. She tried not to think too carefully about his revelations of his sexual adventures but the other part of the night, sleeping next to him, finally being allowed to touch him, and receiving tender affection in return had felt good.

_Can I already miss that? Just after one night?_

\-------------------------

He was already in bed when she called, not asleep though as he was still contemplating what he could write to her.

So he answered after the first ring.

"Hey. You're quick."

"No. Just kept my phone close."

"How are you?"

"Uhm, okay, I guess. And you?"

"Okay. Good. No. Actually I am not good. But I cope."

"You always do."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I might stay a few days longer."

"Okay."

"No. It's not okay. But I'd like to see you. I get you don't wanna come here. To stay with us. Which I understand, my sister's a guilt-tripping nightmare these days. Mother Theresa of the suburbs."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

"But?"

"There's a train. Just three hours. I know it's a long trip but-"

"But? Carrie?"

"I still wanna go for breakfast with you. So if it's too far for you I could come. Just for the day. Or if you don't mind coming here for a daytrip I could pick you up. On Saturday."

"And go for breakfast then?"

"Yeah. But if you're busy or don't-"

"Carrie. No. No. I'm not busy. I'll be there. Of course I'll be there."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So I'll pick you up."

"I'll text you when I'll arrive."

"Uhm, there is a train leaving Penn station at 800 sharp..."

_She even checked the timetable._

"Yeah, sure, I'll take that."

"Good."

"Good."

"I'll pick you up."

They both felt silent. But Carrie had always been the more insistent and so she mustered more courage than he had.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, Quinn, good night."

"Good night, Carrie."

"Good night, Quinn."

"Carrie?"

"Yes."

"It means a lot. To me."

"Yeah. I know. Quinn, I...", but suddenly she couldn't go on so she fell silent.

But it was okay. He had heard what he'd needed to hear.

"Sleep well. I'll talk to you soon."

\----------------

Thursday brought his test results, all clean. Just the HIV test needed to be repeated in about six weeks. He wasn't sure what that meant for him and Carrie, if they'd ever manage to get back to the closeness of that night.

_It just felt right that moment. Like we were meant to be. Lust, yes, obviously too, but much more longing and - more._

He thought he probably should tell Carrie about the results at some point but it wasn't exactly a conversation he wanted to have at all, and especially not on phone. So it had to wait. But still it was good news.

Max commented on his good mood on Thursday night.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"You came out of your room deliberately and cleaned the kitchen."

"Want me to make it dirty again?"

"No. I want you to buy some food. Carrie's soups are finished."

"Call take out. My turn. Your choice."

"You are in a good mood. Spoke to Carrie?"

"Why?"

"Because you are in a good mood. What did she say?"

"She's gonna stay a bit longer."

"How is she?"

"Okay."

"More details?"

"Why don't you call her yourself?"

"Because you camp with your sorry ass in my spare room and should be able to offer more than a word about how Carrie is doing."

"She's coping. I'll see her Saturday."

"She's coming back?"

"No. I'll go and see her in DC."

Max looked at him and raised an eyebrow. But for the first time Quinn didn't mind his friend inquiring about Carrie. He was just worried about her, and that's what people did when they were friends, he thought.

So he went for a light tone when answering.

"Don't look and me like this. I can take the train and go to DC."

"Did you ever ride my train before?"

"Not in the US. But can't be worse than Nigeria."

"Nigeria has a railway net?"

"They do. British colony. The Europeans love their trains. Always did. Actually, the Nigerian railway is one of the very few better parts of Nigeria."

"You've been to a lot of places, huh?"

"Let's say the US has business in a lot of places", Quinn offered waryly.

"Wanna go back to what you...did?"

"No. I won't. But I've no idea what else I could do."

"You spoke with Adal?"

"No. Not about that."

"You'll find something."

Max busied himself with several take out menues and they didn't return to that conversation later.

But Quinn knew that Adal and his professional past and future were one of the many topics he had to pay attention to sooner or later.

It was overwhelming. The week felt like someone had lifted a huge bell jar and everything was suddenly real again. He didn't know if he liked it.

\--------------------

The prospect of seeing Quinn on Saturday made her happy. As simple as that.

Maggie noticed when she asked if she could take Frannie on Saturday.

"It's not Saul you are meeting, huh?"

"Why?"

"Your smile."

"No. It's not Saul. Quinn's coming for a day. Just to have breakfast together."

"Breakfast, uhuhm."

"Yes. People do meet for breakfast or brunch."

"Yes. That's what people do. And of course Frannie can stay here. I told you she could even stay a few days longer if you need to go back to New York. But I am glad to have some more time with you too", she hurried to say.

\------------------------

Thursday night Quinn had a dream. Not the usual array of war, death, gas chamber and The deathly acts he comitted. Not Sandy dying multiple times. Not losing Carrie. No, a dream he hadn't had for a very long time.

_It's been cold and windy all week. But just the day before yesterday the rain stopped. Pops said if the weather is stable he is allowed to come otherwise it's too dangerous. So he spends all day either down at the beach or, when Nana calls him in saying he has to have a nap to be allowed to go, sitting in the alcove in his room, observing the clouds. He doesn't do naps anymore. He is six, his birthday was five weeks ago. Pops always said all the men of the family were allowed to go for the first night trip when they were six._

_It's the week after Christmas and if they can't go today he'll have to wait til his next visit because Dad will pick him up tomorrow._

_He is brimming with excitement but manages to stay silent enough for Pops to sleep. And for Nana not noticing that he is not sleeping._

_Pops gets up at half past four like every day. They have tea then. He loves tea at his grandparents' house. There are not only sandwiches and milk like at home but cake and hot chocolate too. Today the sandwiches are with roastbeef, his favorites._

_After tea Pops usually reads the newspaper and then plays boardgames with him til it is time for his bath. That's the downside, Nana insists on him having a bath every day. She says, only God knows where he sticks his fingers in when he's out and about and so it's a bath every day._

_But today is different. After tea Pops says that the weather looks good and asks him to come with him to the harbour to make sure everything is ready when they leave for tonight._

_He's been to Pops' trawler before but never for a real crabbing tour, the ones Pops does six nights a week to earn a living._

_But tonight he'll be allowed to_ _go for the first time._

_\---------------_

_Pops wakes him at eleven and he quickly dresses. Woolen underwear, long johns, two woolen jumpers and tarpaulin. A woolen hat. Boots. No gloves, they'll need their hands. He loves to watch Pops' hands, they are calloused, furrowed and rough._

_When he's grown up he wants to be a crab fisher too. Dad moved to the city to work there and marry mom but he'll live by the sea and is gonna work onboard of the Latis. He loves the name and the tales of the goddess of water and beer._

_They leave the house quietly, Pops carries a basket with a thermos with hot tea and sandwiches._

_Alistair and Bob are waiting for them at the harbour, they've been working with grandpa for over thirty years or "before your Dad was even a spark of an idea", as Alistair says. Peter has no idea what that means but it sounds very grown up._

_It's a cold night. The clouds are gone and he can see countless stars._

_He gets his life jacket and a safety harness which gets tethered to the jackline. The men only do when the weather gets heavy but it is a long line so he can move freely and work where he's needed._

_He'll work with Pops tonight. But they'll need to chug out to the sea for about two hours to reach the fishing grounds. So he sits with Grandpa in the cockpit while the men prepare the lines and nets. He checks their position frequently using the map, the light house's signal and the beacon buoys. Grandpa has electric navigation systems but since he showed him how to do it he's proud to practice his skills._

_He's with them on deck when they're hauling in the nets, for late December it is a good catch. Blue crabs, rockfish and mackerels._

_It's cold, his fingers hurt and it's so much fun._

_When they turn the vessel back to the coast he's allowed to sit on Pops' stool and to conn the Latis back to the harbour. They have tea and sandwiches and Alistair shares a bar of chocolate with him. He's tired but when Grandpa tousles his hair and says "good work, chap, you are a Quinn" he knows it is the best night of his life._

_They are back at six, it's still dark, and the other trawlers are coming in too. Not many, a lot of the guys make a break in winter. Alistair and Bob will take care of the catch now and bring the boxes to the waiting vans. Some go to local restaurant, mostly the blue crabs, most of the mackerels will end in cans._

_They take some crabs home, Nana promised to cook chowder today._

_When they come home his hands are stiff from the cold. Grandma puts him in the bathtub right away and he is allowed to have breakfast in his pjs. Hot chocolate, warm bread, scrambled eggs and sausages._

_Pops carries him upstairs and he's asleep before his cheek touches his pillow._

  
\--------------------

  
Quinn woke up with a start, disoriented and with a groan.

When he realized he was still at Max' place, in his spartanic room, he sank back into the pillow.

He hadn't remembered that night for more than a decade or nearly two, hadn't returned to that place since he'd been fifteen or sixteen, hot-wiring a car then and driving there one night without knowing what he'd been looking for. They'd all been dead for about eight years then. Half of his life.

It was a long gone past. He'd been back to the Latis twice. That year, 1983, his grandmother had died from cancer and his grandfather had followed soon. A year later the fire had taken his parents and Fiona.

He'd learnt not to think about it to thoroughly quite soon and wondered what had triggered that dream.

_But maybe it is all coming back now. For better or for worse, who knows?_

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Friday brought a decision. He'd go back. He'd never touched those memories during his walks down the memory lane for his shrink, they'd been buried and had not been intended to be dragged out in the open. But now they were back. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop recalling that dream so maybe he should better deal with it.

He could go there Saturday afternoon after seeing Carrie. It was just about an hour drive from DC.

Quinn left New York with the train at noon after letting his shrink's office know he wouldn't come today.

Once in DC he took a taxi to the storage facility close to Langley. It was a small cubicle and he hadn't been there for years.

He told the driver to wait. It wouldn't take long.

The small box was where he remembered it to be, at the very back of the shelf, behind the two other larger boxes.

He opened it and considered just taking the key but then reconsidered and took the passport and the birth certificate as well. And a weapon as he had none since he'd delivered his to Dar.

While locking the cubicle he briefly considered to pay Dar a visit but noticed how fatigue was slowly crawling into his brain and body. Meeting Dar without being alert was never a good idea so maybe some other day.

But there was another visit he probably could make after doing a bit shopping for his trip.

He still remembered where he'd parked the huge rental truck he'd gotten at the airport when shipping back in from Islamabad. This very street, the trees, her sister's house, three years ago. And now he was back.

Now it was a van which was parked more or less on the same spot, good visual axis to the front door and the yard with the snowman family as well as the neighboring gardens.

It was about to get dark, days were short in late November, when he knocked at the van's door which was opened immediately.

"Holy fuck", Rob greated him before he gave him a bear hug and let him in, "last time I saw you, you were busy, asshole."

"I know. Let's cut that crap, will you do me that favor?" Quinn didn't intend to discuss Rob's last week surveillance on him but was well aware of Rob's inquiring glance.

"I know. But tell me since when do you care about that shit?"

"Since I switched on my telly and saw you throwing up bile for primetime entertainment. Fuck, man."

"Yeah."

"So, Adal never said where you were. We thought you didn't make it. And then one day I see that nuclear force of yours storming into his office and yelling at him that you deserve the best available treatment and not some shitty veterans compost shed, her words, not mine. So he allows her to take you to the big apple. And then nothing again. And suddenly he sends me there, putting eyes on you. Because you are an embarrassment to yourself", he imitated Adal's grave tone now, "and if Mathison finds out all hell will break loose anyway."

"Sure."

"Hey, man, not my wheelhouse. But if she still is to you what she once was..."

"Yeah."

"Well, then, time to break with some unhealthy habits. Or to replace them with new ones. Unhealthy too."

"Of course." They both smiled. It was good to see his old comrade.

Rob grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him and offered Quinn a sip of whisky too.

"To absent friends."

"To those we lost. And to those who survived."

"Twenty fucking years, Quinn."

"Half our lifes."

"And we're both still around."

"Seven lifes. Like those cats."

"The last one was fucking bad, huh?"

"Still is, to be honest."

"Sorry."

"No need. It is what it is."

"And she?"

"Well, somehow she's still around", but he couldn't help a small smile from appearing.

"Still around, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Don't fuck it up. That's all I'm  
saying."

"Thanks."

"And whoring around is generally not appreciated by the ladies."

"No. But since when are you so much into what's appreciated by the ladies?"

Now it was Rob who showed a smile.

"While you were busy with tube-feeding and learning to tie your shoes others had other challenges and changes."

"So?"

"I met someone."

"You met someone after every mission and in every shithole."

"Yeah. But this time it's different."

"Says she? Or you?"

"Both of us. Dumbass, I think I'm gonna tie the knot."

That one caught Quinn by surprise but seeing the finally broad smile on his friend's face made him happier than he'd expected.

"Does she think so to?"

"She doesn't know yet. Have to man up and ask. But...I moved in with her a few months ago...and it feels right...and so she should be the Missus and not just a random girlfriend if things go down the drain."

"You could quit."

"Nah. Too many assholes left kicking and screaming out there. And with you taking the most spectacular way out the group ever saw...Adal's still digesting that. Can't turn him down."

Rob poured them another sip from the flask and they sat in silence like uncountable hours before.

Quinn saw the lights in the kitchen of Maggie's house being switched on. And then he saw Carrie and Maggie standing at the kitchen island. Carrie lifted Frannie up and placed her to sit on the island while Maggie probably started preparing dinner. He'd need goggles to see more, but he wouldn't observe Carrie with goggles. She'd be mad enough anyway if she'd ever learn he'd been here.

"You're not going in?"

"No. Things are...difficult. I'll see her tomorrow."

"Okay. So I'm honored by your visit."

"It's good to see you."

They hugged again and Quinn left. Rob wondered where he'd spent the night but didn't ask.

Quinn considered for a brief moment to just ring the doorbell and tell her he needed to see her and if her sister hadn't been there he probably would have stopped but as things were how they were he just walked down the lane towards the small motel Carrie had suggested before Thanksgiving. He had seen her and that was enough for tonight.

She texted him later that night.

"Still coming?"

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Good."

"Good night, Carrie."

  
\-----------------------------

Carrie woke up early, the house was still asleep.

So she got up and walked downstairs, avoiding the creaking steps in the middle of the wooden staircase, and started the coffee machine. She peaked out of the window over to the van and saw Rob exchanging a few words with his replacement, a metal roofer's van being the new cover.

She was excited to see Quinn in a few hours. Five hours exactly. Which was long.

She was hoping he'd be in the mood to listen to her considerations about Elisabeth's offer.

After contemplating where to go she'd opted for a french cafè near Logan Circle. It would require a bit driving from the station to get there but she remembered the food being gorgeous and they had tables in small nichés with some privacy. She'd even made a reservation and a bit of privacy with Quinn was what she needed. They had just a few hours, he hadn't mentioned that he could stay longer and she'd deciced not to ask him again. But he'd come here to see her so she was trying to convince herself that this was a good sign.

_He did say it means a lot. He will be there. He will._

She wondered if they'd kiss again. And if they would, when? Right after pick up? Or maybe later in the café?

And she wondered how they'd ever get back to the closeness of that night. If there were things he needed to tell her and if he'd taken care of some issues. And she wondered how she felt about it.

If things would feel different when they'd made love last week. Probably.

She was willing to give him credit for his honesty, that had been very Quinn. But still...  
On the other hand, there had been times in her life where she'd been reckless and giving a shit.

She poured herself another cup of coffee and returned to her spot next to the kitchen window, silently praising Maggie's and Bill's floor heating.

Maybe she would go for a run before going downtown, she thought, killing some time and get a fresh head.

Maggie had asked her last night what she was going to wear and Carrie had had to admit she hadn't been paying attention to that question which had earned her another one of Maggie's famous worried glances.

But it wasn't like that with her and Quinn. She could wear an old burlap bag and he wouldn't care. But he had noticed the make up last week, so maybe she could make some effort. It had felt strange though, a compliment from Quinn. They knew each other for so long but this was new.

She was just about to go upstairs when her phone rang.

Quinn.

"Quinn. You're not coming."

"No, that's not why I'm calling. I said I would come."

"Good."

"Good morning", he tried a fresh start.

He heard her taking a deep breath and felt a pang of remorse for her feeling so insecure about him.

_But that's what it is. And she has every reason to feel that way._

"Good morning."

"I called to tell you I'll be early."

"You caught an earlier train?"

"I did."

Very early. Already yesterday.

"When will you be there?"

"Is nine too early?"

"No. No, of course not. I'll be there."

"Good."

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Yeah", and then, after a beat, "a tad bit excited to see you I guess."

And it was the small smile in his voice, and for a moment she thought he was insecure too, which did it for her.

"Excited enough to catch an earlier train?", with a small tease in her voice.

"Kind of."

"I'll see you at nine, Quinn. I'll be there."

He left early to go to the station so there was enough time to lock the bag and to find out where to get on the bus to go to the coast in the afternoon.

The train from DC would arrive at nine so he went to the platform at eight thirty to ensure being there before Carrie arrived.

She came ten minutes early, he saw her walking down the platform and scanning the surroundings, followed by Dale who kept himself two metres away from her. Quinn texted Rob that he'd take over now for the time being and saw Dale receiving a text mere seconds later. Their eyes met when stepped out of the shadow of the vending machine, Dale hesitated, then tipped his imaginary hat and turned away back to the main hall. Carrie hadn't seen him as she was busy checking the timetable so he had a moment to take her in.

She was wearing a quilted coat and brown boots. No pants but apparently a skirt or a dress. That was rare. He wondered if he'd ever seen her in a dress except that one day and evening after Islamabad. Her hair was in a ponytail, while he was watching her she was adjusting it twice and he thought it was an indicator that she was nervous. Like he himself.

The train approached the station and he stepped behind her when the first people were leaving the train.

"Carrie. Hey."

She turned around when she heard his voice.

"Quinn."

He looked different. Different clothes. And something else which she couldn't put her finger on yet. But it felt good to see him.

"Hey."

"Hey you. Had a good trip?"

"Yeah. Sorry for being early."

"No. That's no problem. I was awake anyway when you called. My car's in the garage opposite of the station. Okay with a few minutes drive?"

"Sure."

They slowly walked back out through the main hall and again he noticed her scanning the perimeter but didn't comment on it. He understood why she did it. But when they were in the elevator in the parking garage and the elderly couple had left the cabin at the second floor whereas she'd parked on one of the higher floors, he wound an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She leant in just after a second of - he didn't know, doubt, hesitation?

"I don't think anyone's following you."

"But still you put a team in my sister's street."

"I did. Just in case. But I'm sure. Nobody followed us in the station."

\-------------------

Soon enough they were at a french café, seated in a secluded niche at a small bistro table with iron legs. He was pretty sure they hadn't just ended up randomly here and the thought that Carrie might have chosen this place and table for a reason filled him with equal parts of warmth and amusement. They placed their orders and got their coffee and he thought he liked her dress, woolen and dark-blue, he'd brushed a hand over her shoulder when taking her coat.

She was pale and looked tired.

_Didn't I see that before or is it new?_

"Mind if I sit next to you til we get our order?"

It was out before he'd actually decided saying it but the way the corners of her mouth curled up was too good to be missed.

So he skidded next to her on the red bench and found her hand with his.

She leant in when he took her hand and he brushed a brief kiss over her temple.

"Good morning."

"Quinn, I...it's good to see you."

"Yeah. Same here."

Their food arrived and he sat back on his chair opposite of her but every now and then their knees touched under the table.

Apart from being very pale she looked beautiful. The dress was made of soft wool, fitted but not clinging, and the colour enhanced the color of her eyes. He was glad he'd resisted the sweatpants but had opted for jeans and a woolen hoodie himself, wondering how that had found its way into his wardrobe. Probably Carrie had bought it. He had an embarrassingly wide variety of clothes to choose from, all without any difficult buttons but soft fabrics, dark colours, no constricting cuffs, he remembered feeling a surge of panic rising in his chest when they'd put him in a too tight standardized hospital shirt, the feeling of being handcuffed around his wrists, and suddenly Carrie being there, yanking it off him, yelling at a nurse, wrapping a gown around him and whispering "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I'll get you something else, I'm so sorry", and then next thing, a few hours later maybe, she'd been back with loose shirts without any wristbands. He had no idea where to put that memory, when that had happened, probably soon after waking up, but ever since he had had his own clothes in hospital and the veterans' hospital as well. And when he'd moved in with Max there'd been a well-sorted wardrobe waiting for him. As it all came back now he didn't know how to feel about it. But right now it felt nice to somehow match her appearance with making a civilian appearance himself.

They sat for over three hours, eating and talking. She told him about meeting Saul and Elisabeth, about Reza wanting to see her, about Elisabeth pressing for a decision, about Saul trying to talk her back into the Javadi team, and when he asked her if there was any night she did get some decent sleep she teared up.

"Hey. Carrie. I'm sorry. Wait", he got up and pushed himself next to her again, on her left side so he could use his right arm to pull her close, "c'mere. Last week had to have an impact. Allow yourself a break."

While she leant her head against his shoulder an idea started to form at the back of his mind.

"Wanna walk a few steps? There's a small park at 11th northwest. Shouldn't be more than 200 yards from here."

"Yes. I'd like that."

\---------------------

It was a cold and grey day and Carrie shivered involuntarily when they stepped outside despite her warm coat. It was the perfect excuse to wind his arm around her shoulder and when he felt her responding by putting her arm around his waist he knew he would ask her.

He was right, there was a park three blocks east and despite the cold and uncomfortable weather the playground was full with children. Carrie always joked she had to aerate Frannie at least once a day otherwise she'd run wild and so they were out and about every day too. Maybe it was the same with these kids. Or kids in general. He remembered his six year old self not caring about rain or wind.

"Quinn? Quinn?", Carrie's voice snapped him out of his musings, "you okay?"

"Yes. Just distracted. Sorry. No, I'm really okay."

"How was your week? We only spoke about mine." He was a great listener, had asked the right questions and it had felt right to tell him all what was keeping her awake at night and messing with her. Except the questions related to him of course. She'd enjoyed sitting in the café with him. Today he hadn't complained when she'd cut the cheeses and the bread so he could choose himself without having to bother with the knife but she'd seen the small twitch of the corner of his mouth. She'd seen some women who were having breakfast too looking at him and thought they were right, he did look handsome. He was an attractive man, today wearing jeans and the woolen hoody she'd bought in autumn. She'd never seen him wearing it but remembered standing in the store and choosing it. Back these days buying things for him had felt like a connection. He hadn't allowed her to be there for him but she could fill his wardrobe. She wondered how the women would feel about knowing he carried a gun in his right pocket. She'd seen it when he'd put away the coats. Even when he'd gotten up to go to the bathroom their eyes had followed him. There had been an awkward moment when they'd seen him limping, one of them had taken her phone to press a few keys and then they'd put their heads together, whispering excitedly. So they'd recognized him. Carrie had been glad Quinn hadn't been around that moment.

So she had taken his hand when they had left the café, hoping the girls had seen that too.

_He isn't just a victim. He's still Quinn and they don't know anything about him._

Outside now he was wearing his warm parka and the scarf she'd made and it filled her with an unknown warmth.

He sighed before he answered.

"Carrie, I'll tell you some of it if you want that. Although my therapy sessions aren't pretty these days and I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"It's okay. You don't have to."

Quinn heard she was hurt.

"Let's sit a moment, okay?"

He stretched his legs in front of him, yesterday had been a long day without enough breaks and he felt it now.

"I was wondering...I was going to ask you something...or tell you something...", shit, this is difficult, "I need to go somewhere and -"

"Shit, Quinn, not again."

She withdrew her hand which hand been in his since they had sat down on the bench.

"Carrie. Hear me out, please."

She was a few inches away now, her eyes unsteady but she still sat on that bench.

"I came here yesterday."

"So no early train."

"I didn't lie. It was an early train. As early as a day early."

He could see how she was weighing his answer and granting him the benefit of doubt.

"I had to take care of a few things in DC", and when he saw how she was trying to connect the dots and maybe would jump to a conclusion involving Dar and Langley he hurried to go on, "no Langley business. Something else. Which is why I need to go on a short trip. And I was wondering what you might think about a few days away. A break. You said being with Maggie is stressful so I thought maybe...with Frannie of course...and if not it's okay...I'll be back very soon...tomorrow if I go alone...but we could stay longer and have a break...", his voice trailed off. He hadn't planned this. He'd been convinced to go in the afternoon and to be back in New York tomorrow. He hadn't even planned to tell her and the idea to take her along and ask her if she wanted to come had just jumped his mind a few minutes ago when he'd realized that she really wasn't feeling well. And then he'd thought he would like that, having a few days with her away from it all by the sea, taking Frannie hadn't been his priority but she was a mom so he couldn't ignore that, but kids go to bed early don't they, and so he'd said it before his rational thinking had interfered and now she didn't say anything.

_Probably it was a mistake. We are far away from going anywhere together._

"So if I say yes, we leave like now?"

_She's not saying no. She's considering it._

"There's no rush. Anytime you are ready", he heard himself saying.

"I would need to go home and get some things."

"You'll need warm clothes."

"Maggie offered Frannie could stay with her a few days longer in case I wanna go somewhere."

She said it like a question, the words hung between them, he knew he had to say something now, she was building a bridge here but he had to cross it.

"So you're coming?"

He looked at her for the first time since they started that thread of conversation and saw her straightening her back, pursing her lips and making one single determined nod, a very Carrie-way of making a decision and saying yes, he'd seen it many times before but it had never been about them before. He wasn't sure how he felt about taking her there but seeing how she allowed a smile to spread across her face made him feel good. Apparently she rejoiced over his ask and the prospect of getting away for a few days.

_She really needs a break._

He didn't dare to consider any further implications of going on that trip together. Not yet.

\-------------------------

She dropped him at the station as he needed to get his bag and they agreed to meet back here in two hours.

"You're not going to disappear? Cause I'd hate to go back and have to tell Maggie I changed my plans."

She was keeping the tone light, apparently focusing on the traffic, but he knew what this was about.

"Two hours, Carrie. See that coffee shop over there? That's where I'll sit and wait for you."

\-------------------

She had two hours. And some urgent problems. First, her packing for spending some days at her sister's house hadn't covered the possibility of spending a few days with Quinn in - she noticed then she hadn't even asked where they were going.

He'd said she would need warm clothes. But that was just stating the obvious, it was freezing could here in DC too.

So warm clothes to be able to go outside probably.

She could manage that. She had a few nicer pieces too like the dress she was wearing today, she'd seen Quinn casting a what she hoped was an admiring glance when she'd taken off her coat, as she'd packed to be prepared to meet with Elisabeth.

But only two worn out flannel pj bottoms and oversized t-shirts. She had no idea how she felt about this part of their trip and surely there was some serious talking required anyway but if she didn't wanna sleep in her dress she had to make a detour on the way to her sister's house.

So she stopped at Sylene, her long-time favourite shop for the nicer parts of her underwear, and bought a nice pyjama, a tunic nightshirt made from a soft floating fabric and a knee-long cotton chemise with a laced neck-line. All pieces not really what one might call warm but maybe...she forbid herself to think about it right now.

She then rushed into the shop right next to it and got a thick cashmere cardigan, a new pair of jeans and a scarf, all in all the stop had not taken longer than twenty minutes.

When she pulled off the road into Maggie's driveway she figured she had about 25 minutes before she had to be on the road again.

\----------------------

When Carrie had left he realized that he needed to reconsider the arrangements of his trip. He had packed for only two days and certainly not for a few days away with her. He hadn't even planned where to sleep, if the house was okay he'd thought to camp there and if not there should be a motel somewhere around the harbour or maybe at least a room above one of the restaurants. And if not he always could try to make his way back to the city later at night. But now Carrie was coming with him. That required some adjustments.

First, he hit a department store, buying some clothes. He bought underwear and pj pants as well, carefully and deliberately not thinking about the sleeping arrangements. Second, a pharmacy as he only had painkillers for two days. And some more toiletries, she might appreciate if he took care of the three days stubble at some point. Third, googling a guesthouse or hotel. That required thinking about sleeping arrangements. Booking two rooms wasn't exactly what he had in mind and would maybe be misunderstood - and he didn't want her to think that he didn't want to be with her. But he didn't wanna imply expectations and there still was an unhappy topic they had to talk about.

_Fuck, this IS difficult._

He sat with a cup of coffee and had about twenty more minutes before she'd be back.

This was the closest thing he'd ever done to a vacation. He'd been to a lot of places, he'd had days off there or days when his duty had been waiting. Waiting for a target, intel, a certain incident. There had been times when he'd used those days to do stuff. He'd seen historical sites, museums and buildings, some of the greatest achievements of mankind of many centuries, there had been times when he'd enjoyed doing these kind of things.

But just going somewhere remote for the purpose of going there - he'd never done this before.

He expected Carrie had a bit more experience with doing pleasant things in her time off, her apartment had some photos of places she'd been to. A lot of Middle East and some more recent, Frannie was to be seen in these. So he knew she'd been to Italy with Frannie, probably during their time in Germany.

And now he wanted her to have a few days break. And if he was really honest, he wanted to give her a proof that he really tried.

_Fuck it. We are both adults. She knows what she means to me. So one room. And we'll figure it out. Somehow._

He found a small hotel in a victorian wooden house, not far from the harbour but facing the sea and the beach, just outside of the village, made the call and saw Carrie driving into the parking lot.

_God. I haven't even kissed her yet today but just booked a room with a kingsize bed. That's what I call getting ahead of myself._

It was just about one hour to drive. It felt strange thinking about how many years Langley had been his homebase and that he never had considered to go there for a day.

Quinn directed her eastbound out of the city and she figured they were heading towards the coast.

Other than giving directions he was taciturn. So she drove and waited, wondering where he would take her.

She noted his hand tapping on his wrist and lowered his window for a few centimeters, probably being in narrow, locked spaces wasn't comfortable for him. He didn't comment on it and so she didn't either but she noticed him taking a few deep breaths and he noticed her hand giving his knee a squeeze.

He took her to a small coastal town, north of Chesapeake Bay, and she wondered what made him decide to come here in the first place.

She was surprised when he gave her directions to a beautiful white wooden mansion overlooking the bay and she felt her throat narrowing when she saw the lighthouse at the headland a bit further out.

She had no idea what she had been expecting and obviously they had to sleep somewhere but still it came unexpected that he'd already made arrangements.

But she needed a moment. So she stayed outside and let him take care of her bag and whatever else had to be done.

Suddenly he was back.

"Hey. Wanna go for a short walk? Or go upstairs first. There's a pub with dinner down the road, they said."

"Yes. I'd like that."

It was the most relaxed evening they'd ever spent together she thought. It was bingo night at the pub and although they just watched and listened it was fun. They were probably the only strangers as it was late November but nobody paid too much attention except a friendly nod when they entered and Carrie thought she could watch Quinn forever how he leant back on the bench, taking a sip of his beer every now and then, relaxed and more casual as she'd ever seen him.

The locals' bingo night spared them any heavy topics and so they just sat, ate, drunk and listened.

It was warm and comfortable and while she was relaxing for the first time in a week Carrie felt fatigue creeping in, but a good kind of getting tired, after a warm soup and a glass of wine and a long and good day. She knew Quinn noticed when he went to the bar and paid and returned with their coats.

She felt the slightest bit tipsy when the cold air of the coastal night hit her back outside and it was just natural that Quinn's arm went around her shoulder and that she leant in with her arm around his waist and her hand in his back pocket.

They were back on the hotel's ground when he felt her steps getting slower so he stopped.

"This is nice, Quinn. Thank you for taking me here. And obviously we should talk. But I am too tired to talk, so that has to wait. But we can do this, just this, can't we?", and then she went on her toes and kissed him. Not on his cheek, not just a peck, a real and proper kiss.

And with that she'd solved it all for tonight. No more pretense, no more beating around the bush.

It was a good kiss and it took him by surprise. He liked that because it was so much a Carrie-like thing to do, just take the opportunity and make a decision.

She started tenderly and a bit hesitantly as if she wanted to test the waters but when he responded by pulling her closer and bending his head down to her she was done being tentative. And so was he. He felt her hands sneaking inside his parka and her tongue exploring his lips, slowly invading and meeting his.

Their kiss deepened as he put his hand on the nape, just under her ponytail, and allowed himself to press her closer, feeling her smiling against his mouth before she started to gently suck his lower lip and he felt like he was swaying.

He gently framed her face with his hands and slowly seperated them, brushing a thumb over her cheek which was rosé from the cold. Or maybe not from the cold. Her eyes were big and shiny and he saw a teasing smile in them.

"Let's go inside, okay?"

"Two rooms or one room?"

She was still smiling and so he smiled too.

"I was getting a bit ahead of myself. Pushing my luck. So - one room. One bed. And no expectations."

"No expectations at all?", she was teasing and that way he could take it.

"As you said - we should talk. But not tonight. Maybe some expectations."

"That sounds good."

He kissed her once more, softly and deliberately chaste, her face still in his hands.

When they went inside the lower floor was dark except of a few lights illuminating the stairs. It wasn't that late but it was clearly off-season and they probably were the only guests. Quinn took her to the upper floor, into a corner room with generous windows on one side and an alcove - with large windows too - on the other side. The bed was positioned towards the windows, so whoever laid in there could watch the ocean when propped up on a pillow in the morning.

It was a spacious room with a few selected pieces of antique wooden furniture combined with a few maritime accessories - a ship in a bottle, a few framed engravings of maritime species on the walls, an old set of nautical instruments on a chest of drawers. It was a lovely room and the view would be stunning on a bright day.

Carrie smiled at the sight of the bed in the middle of the room. A large bed, but obviously just one bed.

She turned and smiled at Quinn who was still standing behind her his hand loosely on her shoulder.

"You were sure, huh? What make you think I wouldn't send you to the couch?"

He took his time to weigh his words, helping her out of her coat first and then putting away his coat too, then kicking his boots away. So she got rid of her boots too.

"Quinn?", she stood in front of him, a few centimeters smaller now, in that dark blue dress, in the room they'd spent another night together.

"I wasn't sure", he took her hands, hoping she would stay, "I was just hoping - if you wanted me on the couch you would have told me before. Although I know I probably-"

Her finger went up to his lips.

"Quinn. Please. Not tonight. No questions. No answers. Just some more of these. And tomorrow we'll talk." And with that she shoved him backwards towards the bed, placing herself in his lap and kissed him again.

_So be it. No questions. No answers. Just more of these. Sometimes she's just fucking bright._

The dress was gone soon and so was his jumper - too warm and too much of a barrier. He helped her to pull it over her head. When she came out of it her hair was mussed up, some strains had slipped out of the ponytail, and she was wearing a silky underdress and he could eat her up. He pressed her back into the pillow, using his weight to keep her there, maybe a bit more forceful as she'd hoped for but she smiled against his mouth and her arms went around him, and her legs as well, and it was simply too good to be true.

They lost track of time, they were both spent and tired from a long day but couldn't stop, both fearing they would not be able to return to the newly found intimacy if they didn't establish it right here and now.

It was hours later, hours spent with breathless kisses, caressing and exploring, hands mapping bodies, clinging to shoulders and holding each other tight, when they finally fell asleep, Carrie in his arm, head on his chest, her leg and her arm across him as if to secure him there.

They hadn't talked for most of the time but suddenly he thought he should tell her something to prevent some further misunderstandings.

"Carrie?"

She wiggled herself closer in his side, his right side, he felt more comfortable having her in the fully functional arm.

"I don't sleep well. I'll get up if it gets to bad. So if I'm not here I might just be on a walk. I'll be back for breakfast then."

"You tell me if there's anything I can do?" was her answer, voice already very sleepy.

_I could come up with some ideas._

But he didn't say that out loud, just indulged in the pleasure of the thought and that it suddenly was just a matter of time.

\----------------------

Quinn woke up when Carrie slid out of the bed, startled at first but then he noticed she was fiddling with her bag and disappearing to the bathroom. She re-emerged a few moments later after he'd heard water running and crawled back into the bed, wearing a pyjama now. She hadn't noticed he was awake and so he kept pretending to be asleep. She curled up into his side again, an arm across his chest, ghosting a kiss on his shoulder.

A minute later she was asleep again.

Quinn waited for a few more minutes and then got up too.

He took the new pj pants to the bathroom and had to chuckle when he switched on the lights. There laid a price tag on the shelf above the sink, exactly like the one he was about to snag off his pj bottoms right now.

Right next to it where two bottles with pills. Lithium and Wellbutrin, the later bottle looked new whereas the Lithium bottle had been in use for quite some time. He didn't want to snoop around her back but felt strangely admiring how she managed her condition these days. If she'd just been there three years ago - but he decided not to go there but rather focus on the present. Which was more than just pleasant. So he shuffled back into the room - our room, our bed - and went back to bed.

  
\---------------------

_His last attempt fails, a hail mary right from the start, survival instincts apparently stronger than the darkness he always thought he'd welcome in the end. Pathetic, this Don't go without a fight like a good soldier-attitude. As if anybody would see or know about that part of the ordeal. As if he could delay anything. As if a second or a minute longer would change anything. And so he'll get his darkness. Soon. She's gonna see that video, everybody will see it, every fucking news channel, website, newsfeed and facebook profile will have that fucking video. He's gonna die live on screen and she'll rewatch it hundred and thousands times. Looking for a sign. It'll be engraved in her brain and the guilt she'll feel will kill her. He knows it and would give anything to convey that message: This is not your fault. I chose this. The Atropine will only make the suffering longer and for a moment he wishes he could send Quasim to hell for being such an indecisive wuss. Don't look away, Quasim. Look and see what it's like. They close the chamber door, they're not even releasing his hands, he's gonna die with grey duct tape wrapped around his wrists, his hands maybe covering the piss stains before the whole damn world will see them, and he's been in agonizing pain before, but this is worse and it will get worse and he knows that SLUDGEM will happen soon, salvation and lacrimation already started and there's nothing he can do about it, and he'll focus on the symptoms because everything else would be unbearable, it'll be less than a minute, it'll be quick, I never told her, urination and diaphoresis, it's not the sarin that kills, I should have told her, his own nervous system will kill him, is turned against him, he is killed by the accumulation of his own normal neurotransmitter telling his own nerves to do the normal things they normally do, just in excess. I am so sorry, Carrie. His nose runs, the eyes cry, the mouth drools and vomits, and bowels and bladder evacuate themselves. It is not a dignified state. I loved you. The master of fucking self-control can't control anything anymore. Vision blurs, chest tightens, unbearable pain. He can't let her know. She'll never know. Can't breathe, the pain, soon it'll be over, try to think of her, a good bye, a -_

He snapped out of the usual nightmare, gasping for air. Carrie talked him out of it, he heard her voice, just before he hit the floor and felt his lungs bursting.

"Quinn. Take a deep breath. It's just a nightmare. Quinn. Listen to me. You are here with me. It's me, Carrie. You are safe."

When she noticed he was awake and back in the present, although still breathing heavy and fighting against the spasms and the panic she was out of the bed and by the window with two long steps, pushing the windows open to let cool and fresh air stream into the room.

Then she was back, suddenly holding a glass of water.

"Here. Just a small sip. Do you have any kind of medication you need?"

She saw him shaking his head, he had some Valium somewhere in his bag but that was certainly not what he was going to take now. When he spilled some of the water she took the glass away from him and put it back on the nightstand.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice was hoarse and raspy, and she felt her own throat constricting when she sensed how painful speaking probably was for him.

"No", she hurried to say, "you didn't, you got agitated, started tossing and turning and then you were stiff as a steel cable, I'm fine, don't worry. But you-", she stopped talking suddenly sensing he probably wasn't ready to talk about it. Not now.

Instead she got up from the edge of the bed, closed the windows again, the room was filled with freezing air now, and then climbed the bed next to him again, placing a tentative hand on his smaller back for a brief second.

"Hey. Anything I can do?"

A shoulder shrug. Better than a no.

"Can I touch you?"

A nod. Pursed lips though.

"Like this?"

The hand on his back again.

Another nod.

He still tried to control his breathing, slowly regaining control over a normal rhythm again, slowly subdueing the pain in his chest.

After a while she started rubbing his back with slow long strokes. He didn't react but didn't move away either.

So she moved closer, kneeling next him on the bed now and putting one arm around his shoulder, the other hand on his biceps.

"Quinn. Let's lay down again. It's cold."

She was right. It was cold, it had been just about 30 degrees Fahrenheit when they'd arrived and now it was probably even colder.

So he sank back with a groan, painfully aware of how pathetic this whole ordeal had been.

Carrie took his legs and helped him to swing them under the coverlet - can't get worse - and then climbed herself back into the bed, she was close but not too close.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not now. Tomorrow. Please, Carrie."

It was the streak of pain in his voice which made her re-evaluate.

"Sure, Quinn. Think you can go back to sleep?"

"What do you do when you have those nightmares?"

Of course he knew she was having nightmares.

"Depends. Sometimes I take a Xanax or an Ambien. I used to drink a lot but that stopped. I get up and walk around. Or I watch Frannie sleeping."

"I have Valium with me."

"Do you want one?"

"No."

She wasn't sure what to do but earlier that night she hadn't considered the consequences either and just followed her longing so maybe she should just do the same now. So she closed the few inches distance between them and propped herself on her elbow, looking down at him. He felt her very close, her body lightly pressing in his side.

"It'll get better."

"Yeah. They say so. But ever since I started it only gets worse. The nights, that is."

"Because you unlock and process things."

"Yeah. Probably. C'mere, will you?"

He saw her smiling and wound his arm around her shoulder again to hold her close. He didn't go back to sleep that night but noticed how he eventually got calmer and his lungs stopped hurting. A while later Carrie felt asleep and he felt her warm breath dampening a small spot of his shirt. He hadn't hurt her. That had been his greatest fear when he had snapped out of the nightmare, that his crazy mind might have taken her as on of his abductors and he'd harmed her.

He tried to focus on what he felt right now and not to return to the nightmare. Carrie in his arm, a warm blanket around them, Carrie's arm across his chest, her hand holding his left hand, her hair tickling his chin, when he turned his head the slightest bit he could kiss her forehead. They'd spent nearly 24 hours together now and it was still good.

She was deep asleep now again and he decided to just let her but got up and silently left the room after a quick shower and getting dressed. Before sneaking out he sent her a text message and placed the phone next to her.

Now was as good as any moment to go back to the house and have a look. If he wasn't mistaken it was about another mile down the beach so he should be able to manage the distance, even on difficult ground.

\-----------------------

Carrie woke up at eight, slowly first and then - when noticing Quinn wasn't there - with a start. She saw her phone on his pillow, a message on the lock screen:

_Went for a walk at around 5am. Will be back for breakfast. Hope you slept well._

His version of a sticky note.

Three hours. She wondered where he'd gone. Outside the night slowly faded, it was a cloudy day, but out there were a few spots of dancing sunlight on the waves. Suddenly she realized that there was no rush. No getting up, getting Frannie ready, rushing to school, hurrying to the first appointment, every minute of the day scheduled and planned, trying to make time for Quinn and Frannie. She had time, an unknown luxurious feeling. Scanning the room her eyes felt on a coffee maker and so she got up, prepared a cup and sat back in bed, sipping her coffee - and doing nothing, just watching the waves and the clouds and the light.

She considered texting Quinn but then decided not to, he'd be back when he was ready. Last night's nightmare had been back and Quinn being Quinn he probably needed some time to deal with the fact that she'd been witnessing what he would call another display of weakness. Her mind wandered back to the earlier part of the night which had been - good. So good. She'd allowed herself to just give in to the longing and had found a Quinn she hadn't known before. Except that one kiss all those years before. Last night he'd been tender, passionate and devoted, giving and receiving, and they'd both indulged in the pleasure of finally being together. She hadn't even taken off her underwear and neither had he, they'd just kissed and caressed and explored and yet she got goosebumps thinking about it, thinking about him. They had to talk. Obviously. But last night they'd needed exactly this, blissfully ignoring all emotional baggage and just being together.

After a while she got up and stood for a moment by the window, looking down to the beach. It was another cold day, a few single small snowflakes found their way from the clouds but it wasn't cold enough for them arriving the ground as snow. There was person at the far end of the beach, moving slowly as far as she could see, maybe Quinn.

\--------------------

Being outside calmed his mind. It was cold and part of him wished to just go back and snuggle under the cover again and to gravitate into Carrie's arms. It wasn't too much what had happened between them last night and still it felt like a precious, fragile gift. They'd kissed, passionately and tenderly, full of longing and hands had explored and caressed but they hadn't even been naked. Suddenly they had time - she would still be here tomorrow, he would still be here tomorrow.

He wondered why this was suddenly possible - being with her, allowing her close without feeling the urge to run. And why fate sent him a horrible flashback nightmare just that night.

_There is so much we need to talk about._

_That chamber and Carrie being there. Just when I was letting it all go._

Over his musings he'd arrived at the far end of the beach, where a few Aleppo pines marked the beginning of the ground of the house he'd spent so many hours of his early childhood. Happy hours and food times.

There was no reason in delaying it an further so he took a deep breath and entered the grassy stretch of land right behind the beach and walked over towards the small wooden white house.

It had been empty now for years, the real estate agent hadn't been able to track him after the last tenant had moved out and so it was empty now.

\-----------------------------

She saw him down at the beach after a shower and getting dressed. He didn't face directly towards the house but was watching the sea while he slowly walked back into the direction of the hotel.

The prospect of seeing him soon caused a rush of excitement in her stomache and she wondered what would be different.

_Because things are different now, or?_

So she brewed another cup of coffee and sat in the window alcove waiting for him, the lonely figure down at the beach. He wouldn't like the thought that she was watching him, would feel exposed. They'd never talked really talked about his impediments but from the few times she'd gotten a glimpse into his feelings she knew he felt abashed when she saw too much of it.

So she looked at him one last time, wishing she could see his face and then raised her eyes and watched the ocean again.

\---------------

He was back fifteen minutes later. It was nearly nine, and he wondered if she'd be mad that he'd been away for so long.

But when he came back to the room she sat in the window alcove, evidently fresh out of the shower, her hair was still wet, wearing jeans and a thick blue cardigan, a cup next to her, and was apparently watching the waves and the clouds and doing nothing. Her shoulders were relaxed and she wasn't pacing the room.

She turned around when she heard him and smiled. A shy smile.

"Good morning."

"Hey. You slept well?"

"Yes. You not so much I guess?"

"It is what it is. But the first half of the night was good."

Her smile was broadening. Exactly like he had been hoping for.

He sat next to her, taking her hand.

"Good morning. Wanna c'mere?"

She'd made so many first steps over the last days and weeks and especially last night so he felt it was probably his turn now to make them start the day without false pretences. He wanted her to feel that last night had been real. And he wanted to feel the same and not spending the day with pondering about the question if they would return to that intimacy or maybe even more later that day or not.

So he pulled her in and kissed her, just a short and gentle kiss but apparently enough to make her lean in when he stopped and kiss him in return.

"Hi. You shaved. Much better."

His skin felt cool and he tasted a bit salty, ocean air and salt water spray on his skin.

"You've been walking at the beach. I taste the salt."

"You are a master spy", but with a gentle tease, "I saw you standing up here. But yes, I've been at the beach. It's cold out there. But good. How do you feel about breakfast and a walk - together this time?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join us on LJ on Oct 29/30 for a first round of the new Fic Me bookclub. We'll discuss CQ fanfic. Anons are welcome to join and post: 
> 
> http://homelandstuff.livejournal.com/11403.html
> 
> And those who were wondering after reading about Rob and Eden in train fiction...yes, it is Eden. Same AU here.
> 
>  
> 
> And a last remark: I am  
> always grateful if you leave a comment and tell me what resonated with you.


	12. Chapter 12

They went down to the beach but turned right, towards the lighthouse and harbour, not left where she'd seen him in the morning. Carrie was curious but determined to wait until he would be ready to break the topic.

He'd been back to being taciturn over breakfast but not a tenacious or stubborn silence so it had been okay. She'd had a nice chat with the waitress about the weather and last night's bingo night, it would clear up in the afternoon, and she'd browsed through a local newspaper while Quinn had been busy with his breakfast. She'd cut some fruits and two bread rolls and had shoved the plates in the middle of the table, well aware of the corner of his mouth curling up.

So she'd refilled his mug twice, just half way, and apparently that was a way to help him he was willing to accept.

Now they walked slowly along the waterline, she'd figured the firm wet sand might be an easier ground for him as the softer sand further away from the water.

It was indeed cold but it felt good to be outside. Once again her hand was in his coat pocket.

"How do we start?"

_Classic Carrie, all in._

"Dunno. Maybe one question each?"

"You've questions too?"

"A few. Yes. But you can start."

"How's therapy going? You think it helps?"

"That's two."

"Damn it Quinn. You know what I mean."

"Yes", he had to smile at her apparent annoyance, "I know what you mean."

"So?"

"Each one can skip one."

"No."

"So you can't skip either. You have to answer whatever I ask."

"And now you feel fucking smart", she quipped but with a gentle nudge of her elbow.

"I do. Yes."

"So I get the first question."

"Fine. Choose wisely."

"Why would I? It's not limited. I get as many shots as I want."

"Go ahead."

He wasn't as half as cool about it as he was pretending but as he knew they needed to talk this was as good as any way to start.

"I already asked my question. How is therapy?"

"Not good. But I get why she makes me do what I'm doing there."

"She?"

"My shrink. She. Yes."

"Singular? Just one?"

"Yes. Relationship building. Trust. All that. So just one, yes."

"I know you have just one shrink. But you do all kinds of therapy. Physical therapy, fine motor skills training, respiratory training and...", he knew she'd made him with her very first question, just a matter of seconds now, and right, "...fuck, Quinn, you're  
not going there anymore? Since when?"

"Isn't it my turn to ask now?" But her glance gave him an indication better not to stick to ground rules  
now so he gave in.

"October. But I scheduled new appointments for next week."

"Okay."

_That's a suprise._

But he wasn't off the hook.

"So that makes my question easy. How is the one therapy you are currently getting? And don't say I already used my question. You forced me into a detour."

"You know the basic outline, don't you? The idea of learning to process and store memories as past by deliberately recalling them and making a timeline?"

She nodded, he had expected that.

"I did all that. But it wasn't enough. I still couldn't control it as you know. It's like opening that well and...it's all coming back and I have no control of whatsoever."

"But last week you managed to stay focused."

"But you talked me out of it. You did the hand taps."

"But last time you were gone for a few minutes, you really went there, and this time you managed to stay in the present."

"Talking about low standards."

"What do you see in those flashbacks? Can you tell me?"

"I could. But believe me it's nothing I would want you to see in your dreams. And some of it...you know anyway. But the rest...Carrie, don't make me, please. Don't make me."

"Hey. It's okay. I won't."

He felt her squeezing his hand and squeezed back, borderline painful.

"Quinn?", and then when he gave a short nod, "I know it's hard. And I know you started it because I asked you. So if you ever want to talk about some memories...I'm here. I can listen."

"I know."

"It's your turn now."

"Why are you in New York?"

"Because I needed a fresh start."

"And New York was the obvious choice then?"

"Washington wasn't. At least not then."

"We promised honesty."

"I am honest."

"Why New York?"

"You are there."

"Why?"

"Therapy's best. Dar had another place for your. A veterans home somewhere in Delaware."

_The veterans' compost shed Rob mentioned._

"How did you talk him round?"

"I didn't. You made me medical proxy. So it was my call."

"So you brought me to New York?"

"Yes."

"And Frannie and you?"

"We were on the same flight. They had to sedate you. So you slept through the whole ordeal in your own compartment with a medical team by your side. But I was there."

"That's not what I meant. Frannie and you - why are you in New York?"

"Because you are there. I had no other place to go to. So we went to New York and tried a fresh start there."

Quinn felt silent, trying to digest the news. It wasn't that he hadn't figured it before but hearing it was something altogether different.

As far as he knew he'd arrived in New York in July.

_So nearly five months. And I've only pushed her away._

"Carrie. I'm...I don't know what to say."

Carrie stopped their slow walk, turning towards him to look at him. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold.

"Just tell me it wasn't a massive mistake."

"It wasn't. I should've told you sooner."

"This game is hard."

"I know. You invented it."

That made her smile but it was a sad smile.

So he bent his head to kiss her, without thinking too much, but it felt like the right thing to do, especially when she didn't pull back. When they marched on his arm was around her shoulder again and she thought that this felt better.

"Can I ask one more question?"

"I get two then too."

"Sure. As if you always stick to the rules", and he was glad she chuckled, "do you wanna stay in New York?"

"Phew...that's a big one."

"I don't think so. Just a yes or a no."

"That's not how it goes. There's Frannie."

"Sure."

He'd forgotten about Frannie for a second.

"I hate to make her move over and over again. But seeing how much she enjoys being in Bethesda...with Maggie and her cousins...she has friends down the road...whereas New York...she only has me there. And her nanny. No playdates. I suck at making mommy-friends. Sometimes she meets a kid at the playground but it's not that she has a close-knit relationship with anybody there yet. But making her to start in a new school again?"

"And you?"

"That is three."

"I know."

"I think I can't go back to the foundation. Without Reza and his students we can't do the work we did."

"The students might keep doing it."

"But I'm no lawyer. I have no expertise in law. I can't guide them. So that's kind of a lost world. I need to talk to Otto though. And Saul wants me to come back."

"He'll always want that. Cause you're good. The best. Question is, what do you want?"

"Not the agency. He wants me in Iran."

"That fucker. Damn it. Carrie, just damn it. Don't-"

"Hey. Save your breath. I'm not doing it. I'm not."

"Good."

"But I'm considering Elisabeth's offer. She needs my answer next week."

"Washington."

"Washington."

He fell silent. He had many more questions but it was her turn. Asking questions and for the rest it was too early anyway.

_What about us then?_

He let go of her shoulder and put his hands in his pockets again. Her hand followed. _At least that._ She didn't talk for a few minutes either but when he didn't pick up the thread of conversation she sighed and finally spoke.

"What changed? Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know."

"But something did change?"

"Yes. Or maybe not so much. But I was able to accept it then."

"What?"

"That you came to see me."

"I did. It didn't feel right not to see you that day."

"I didn't expect you to come."

_But I still went to that playground._

"That was a nice evening. I liked the food. We never did that before. Dinner in a nice place and talking."

"I shouldn't have left without bringing you upstairs."

"Quinn. No. Don't put that on you. And not on me. There was no way how you or I could have anticipated this. I keep telling that myself. Because the alternative would be that it was obvious - and I failed because I didn't see it coming."

"It took me too long to find you."

"No. It was a fucking long shot and you came. You were there in time. Two days before I'd doubted you'd even give a shit."

_Wow. Now we are getting somewhere._

"You thought I wouldn't try to find you?"

"Well, I wrote you and left those hints. For you. So of course I was hoping for you to find them. Believing you would piece it together. But I wasn't sure", and with another nod, "no, I wasn't sure."

"Why?"

"Quinn...", she turned at looked at him now, "you didn't give me much indications for what we were until basically a few days ago. I didn't know if there's anything left you care for. And I wished we'd found out through another way. But for the last weeks...months actually...there weren't many days when you were there."

"That's true."

"You're here now?"

"Yes. Carrie, of course, I'm here now. Before, I don't know what happened. I disengaged. Kind of."

"Did you talk about that in your therapy? Cause we did in the support group. So I knew it is normal, you're not doing it to punish me or lock me out but your brain does it to protect yourself. But still...", he heard she was tearing up.

_Great. We made it for about 2 miles without making her cry._

"Hey", he stopped and took their hands out of his pocket, using his right hand to cup her cheek, "Carrie. I'm here now. I'm sorry."

"Can we stop that fucking game? Asking questions?"

"Sure. It's over."

"Cause I need a break."

"It's over. C'mere."

They were close to the harbour, arm around her shoulder again, so he took her there. It was a peaceful sight, all the trawlers and boats in the small harbour surrounded by the old quay walls, the wooden houses of the small town a picturesque background.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Inside or outside?"

"Outside. Wait, I'll get them."

She knew he couldn't carry two hot paper cups so she went into the small dairy and got them.

When she came out again she saw him a bit further down the road, looking at one of the trawlers. It was a trawler like all the others, a bit older maybe, but well maintained. She had no idea what had caught his eye.

Latis was the ship's name.

They sat on a wall in the inner harbour, sipping their coffee.

She felt he was far away and that made her sad but she didn't know how to break through that new barrier.

So she just sat next to him and wondered why it was so difficult, this talking openly and honestly. After a while he'd finished his coffee and took her hand again. She noticed that she still forgot sometimes that all these normal movements required planning now for him and had to be done seriatim. Coffee first, putting the cup away then, and just then using the now free hand to reach out to her.

She felt a pang of remorse that she hadn't used one of her fully functioning two hands to reach out to him before.

"Wanna go back? I'll need a break soon."

"Sure."

They walked back silently on the narrow street through the village and not for the first time she figured he might know the place well.

"Can I ask you something, Quinn?"

He needed a moment to snap out of his thoughts and wondered how long he hadn't talked with her.

_God, I am so bad at this._

"Yes. Back to the game?"

"No. You don't have to answer."

"I will."

"You don't even know the question yet."

With a sigh he pulled her into an embrace, holding her still tightly when he answered.

"This is fucking difficult. I know. For me too. But I try."

"Okay then. When you say you need a break, what does that mean? Do you have pain then or are you tired or whatever else?"

They'd never spoken about his physical condition resulting from the stroke and the chamber.

"It means I'm tired", he sighed, clearly not comfortable with the question, "I get unfocused after a few hours and my leg hurts when I walk too much. And my hand cramps and gets shaky. Not every day but often. I don't sleep well at night so I often need a nap during the day. Breathing usually only gets difficult after a flashback. Not during the day. Not very promising, I know."

"You'd make a great salesman Quinn", he loved her for maintaining a very factual tone,  
"how about emphasizing your accomplishments? That this is all what's left from the hell of problems you had?"

"Are we playing glass half full or half empty?"

"Call it what you want. I call it you came a fucking hell of a way. And you still make progress. So you wanna go upstairs now and have a break?"

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. It's okay. It really is. I'll sit in the reading room downstairs. Maybe go down to the beach for a while. Call me when I'm not here. I'll just get my book."

He wondered if he could ask her to stay with him. Although he probably wouldn't sleep that much then. But thinking about it he'd like to spend the afternoon in bed with her.

_That would just require an honest report about STIs testing._

Carrie collected her book, smiled sweetly and was already back at the door when he said her name and reached for her hand.

"Wait a second."

He was determined to ask her to stay, he didn't want her to leave, but then he didn't manage to phrase it. For no particular reason, it just felt too alien to suggest that kind of pastimes.

So he just took the two steps back to the door and kissed her briefly, smelling the ocean in her hair.

"I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, Quinn."

For a moment she'd thought he would ask her to stay but when he had not she thought he really had to be tired as his night had been short. She wondered how he felt about needing this break now and about having to tell her. Probably he didn't like it.

She sat in the reading room, their was an open fireplace and it was cosy and warm to sit there and see the beach outside. A small sideboard held a coffee machine and a selection of tea bags as well as some water and so she sat by the fire with a cup of tea and her book. It was the most peaceful afternoon she had in a long time and she didn't even read, just sat there, sipped her tea and thought about her professional future, Frannie, Quinn - probably sleeping - upstairs in _their_ room, and when had she ever had an _our_ with anyone before? Even with Brody there had not been enough time to name Frannie _our_ child.

But she was glad she'd been able to tell him.

And there'd been Jonas. But it hadn't been their appartment or life - it had been Jonas' home and she'd moved in with him. With two suitcases and a box of toys.

She had a _we_ with Frannie, of course. _And now...maybe..._

"Hey. What are you reading?"

"Quinn. I didn't hear you coming in."

She had no idea how long he stood in the door jamb but he came closer now, a small smile on his face, one of those that actually reached the eyes. His movements were less edgy now again so the break had done him good, she thought.

He sat next to her and took her book from her hand, turning it to find out what it was.

"German?"

"Yes. Rafik Schami. It's actually a book for teens. My German's not that fluent. But the author has a fascinating story. He comes from a syrian-christian family and fled in 1970, to Germany. He never went back. He couldn't. But he writes about Syria. In German. But Damascus never left his heart. His stories always play in Syria. This here, Damascus Nights, is set in 1959, in Damascus obviously. The most famous storyteller, Salim, has lost his voice. For seven nights, his old friends gather to break the spell with their seven different tales. A modern thousand and one nights. But he wrote novels as well. One spans decades, tells a lot about syrian daily life - he calls Damascus a lost luggage office of cultures - but especially about how political upheavals eat away the core of Syria's society, how betrayal, corruption, censorship, fear and torture influence people's daily life, their families, their future. He wrote on that one for over thirty years."

"So you started reading books about Syria while living in Berlin."

"I did."

"Nothing of what he describes in those books is left. It's...just gone. Erased. And the people he once knew - they won't be there anymore."

"I once went to one of his readings. I spoke to him afterwards. He said he still sees Damascus, the Damascus of his childhood and youth, whenever he wakes up. He never went back. Only in his dreams. Every night. We spoke about the current war."

"What did he say?"

"We had a lenghty conversation, he invited me for a glass of wine when the book shop was closed for the night. Among other things he said he hoped there'd be some western intervention."

That had been her anchor. That Quinn's disappearance from her life would at least make a difference for someone else. Do the right things somewhere or at least trying to keep evil at bay.

She couldn't say it to that kind professor and author who looked more German than Syrian by now and made kind jokes about his German habits but her heart had felt a bit lighter that night.

"Did you read that novel as well? The one that took him thirty years to write?"

"Yes. I read it in English. My German's not good enough for that. Or I don't have the patience. Or both."

That brought her another smile whereas she was just hoping he wouldn't ask for the book's name.

_The dark side of love._

But he didn't.

Instead he put the book aside and took her hands in his, making eye contact. She felt his right hand closing around her hands and the left hand's more delicate touch.

"Thank you for coming here with me."

"Why are we here Quinn? I mean, it's beautiful and I like it a lot but...why here?"

"I wanna show you something. But I can't go there today. I can't walk that much again. We'll go there tomorrow. Right after breakfast if you want to."

"You are a big tease. I'll bug you all night about it."

"I bore up against worser, believe me", but he said it with a smile, "what would you like to do now? Finish your book? Or go outside again?"

"Maybe just sit outside?"

"Good. And I'll take you out for dinner tonight."

"Quinn", she had that beautiful smile again, "How about asking? Not just making a statement."

"Nope. Here, at least, you are stuck with me."

His tone was equally teasing as hers but still his words struck a chord with her. So when they went outside through the small lobby and were on the veranda, Quinn was two steps behind her, she turned around and looked at him, seriously now.

"You think I feel stuck with you?"

"I don't hope so", but he shrugged.

"I don't."

"Good."

They went into the direction of the beach again, it was the last hour of daylight and indeed the day had cleared up and there were some last golden streaks of sun whereas the light was already cold and bluish.

Carrie thought that the day felt like a break from reality. No obligations, no duties, no pressure, no rush. She felt in a lighter mood than during all the days she'd spent at her sister's house.

A lonely dog walker crossed their path and then the beach was empty again.

They didn't go down to the water this time but stayed on the grassy stretch between the beach and the hotel's garden where wooden planks formed a paths through the low dunes. This was where Quinn stopped after about a hundred yards.

"Before we go to dinner - you wanna go back to the room or just stay outside a bit?"

"You think I need to change or dress up?", she nudged an elbow in his side.

"No", he smiled down at her and suddenly she felt a surge of warmth, "I don't think so. I just would like to be with you, here, outside, for a while."

Their eyes locked for a moment and then for a moment longer, she knew he would kiss her now, and whereas last night had felt good and right, this moment felt different now.

He took her in his arm, clutching her as tightly as he could, and kissed her, and it felt different than the few kisses they'd shared earlier that day. Full of longing, less playful, much more than the play of seduction their last night's kisses had been.

She felt his hand at the back of her nape, holding her, and then slowly and gently caressing her neck and her cheek when they parted.

He smiled again, she'd seen that smile once before, held her gaze for a moment and kissed her again, gentle and tender now.

"How would you feel about something as corny as sitting down and watch the waves for a while?"

"Actually", she was a bit breathless and noticed the amused flicker in his eyes, "I'd like that."

She stood for a moment, not sure how he'd feel about her watching the somewhat restricted range of his left leg when squatting and finally sitting down.

The last sunlight was gone now, it would be dark soon and the lights of the lighthouse were switched on just that moment, a flash of light going out on the sea. Quinn wrapped on arm around her and she leant against his shoulder, thinking how unbelievably good that felt.

"When I was a kid there was a lighthouse keeper. He lived in the little house next to the lighthouse. My grandfather once took me up light. During the day of course. That was the only day when I doubted my decision to become a crab fisher."

"You wanted to be the lighthouse keeper?"

"Of course. What's not to love about that? I thought better than being a fisherman is being the one whom all the fishermen follow."

She didn't comment on the true significance of what he just had told her and neither did he. This was the only way to steer through this, and they both knew it.

"Early leadership skills", Carrie quipped, "so you were very disappointed when it was automated?"

"I was. I was five then. The last keeper was around seventy then. And when he retired they set up the automatic system."

"And you? What did you decide to do then?"

"Crab fisher. Soon after I was allowed to go on my first fishing trip. I took some solace from that."

"Did you make a good catch?"

"Better than I could have ever dreamt of."

His voice was low and Carrie wasn't sure but maybe a bit throaty.

She said nothing. Neither did he but when she snuggled a bit closer to protect herself against the cold he pulled her in his lap, kissed her neck just below her earlobe and made her shiver in anticipation of what the rest of the night might bring.

It was a long time later before they spoke again, it was getting really cold and the humidity of the sea was crawling into their bones but neither of them wanted to break the moment.

But finally he did, afraid he might get to stiff to ever get up again.

"How much of a vegetarian are you these days?"

"Not that much. Are we having crabs for dinner?"

"Am I this easy read these days? Crabs, or mussels or chowder. All very good as far as I remember. C'mon."

He set her on her feet and hesitated just a brief moment before he accepted her hand to help him to get back on his feet.

They weren't far from the harbour, and it was just natural that his arm went around her shoulder now and that she wound her arm around his waist.

He took her to a small white wooden building, down the road from the harbour, a large stencil above the entrance shaped like a crab betraying the specialty of the house. Carrie liked the place before they even entered.

It was one large room, the windows facing the small harbour and the trawlers. The furniture was simple and wooden, well-used, most of the tables were taken on a Sunday night as many of the locals were apparently eating here and having a chat with neighbors and friends. The room was warm, a welcome change after the coldness outside.

Carrie stood for a moment and took in the atmosphere, wondering if there had been a time when Quinn had been a child and had eaten dinner here. Probably. Maybe he would tell her.

They sat at a small table after Quinn ordered drinks at the bar while Carrie put their coats away.

She noticed that some pair of eyes followes her and when she saw Quinn's smile when she came back she knew he had seen it too. He stood behind her chair when she sat down and bent down to her, brushing a kiss on her temple.

It felt good that he felt possessive.

"They are right. You do look beautiful", he whispered before he stepped back and sat down opposite of her.

"You sure you wanna eat blue crabs? Cause it's messy and I can't help you with some of the steps", raising his left hand but with a hint of a smile, "or I'll make it only worse."

"Are they good?"

"The best."

"You've been here before."

He noticed it wasn't a question.

"Yes. Sometimes. On Sundays. But usually my grandma cooked some of my pop's catch, no need to go out for dinner."

"So it was a special treat."

"It was."

Carrie knew what he was offering her here and for a moment she felt overwhelmed, fighting for her composure. But then she covered his hand on the table with hers.

"So can you talk me through the steps how to overpower those little bastards?"

"They are not that little. But I can."

Quinn ordered chowder and crabs and when the food arrived Carrie thought he'd been right, they were big. A bit intimidating.

"They are dead, aren't they?"

"No, they'll pinch your nose. Of course they are dead."

"And now?"

"Take a napkin, cover your shirt, and then hold it down with one hand and twist the claws up and towards you. They'll come off then. Same with the legs."

Quinn reached over the table and twisted one claw off while Carrie was holding the crab down.

"See, like this."

"Okay, I can do that."

She quickly pulled the remaining claw and legs off and then looked expectantly at Quinn.

"Now use your thumbs to prise the plate away from the underside of the shell. Good. These little things are called 'dead man's fingers'."

"Yikes."

"Pull them off and discard them. You can't eat them."

"Well, what can we eat?"

"Just wait. Now you're allowed to use that little mallet to crack the legs and claws. And then we can peel the shell pieces off. That's it."

"That's easy."

Carrie repeated the steps with two more crabs, and then they shared the crab meat and ate their chowder from large bowls.

Knowing that spooning a bowl of soup would require all of Quinn's concentration Carrie ate in silence herself, just flashing a smile over the table every now and then. When the bowls were half empty she opened two more crabs and had another sip of the white wine Quinn had gotten for her.

"You really don't mind, do you?"

"Having to deal with those little motherfuckers alone? No", and another knock with the mallet, "do you? I think I'm not too bad at it."

"Not at all. You are fabulous."

Again some people were casting inquiring looks towards them, or to Quinn, but Carrie decided that it were just the normal curious looks any strangers in the off-season would get.

She was taught better when Quinn went to the bar to order another drink. She overheard snippets of a conversation of three older men in the window corner next to them then.

_Sheryl said Alistair's kiddo's back...didn't believe her...glacier stare...like Alistair...disappeared...biggest storm...only found the trawler...someone was at the house...look at him...staying at the Inn...nearly 35 years...a fire..._

They fell silent when Quinn came back and Carrie decided not to tell him, not now.

They'd finished their meal and so Quinn took her hand when he sat down, holding it in his when he resumed to talk.

"You know most of it now. My grandparents lived here. I was here frequently, weekends, holidays. It was the best place to be a kid. The beach, fishing, playing outside and heavenly hot chocolate", the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, "so I wanted-"

"To go back here. I'm grateful you took me with you."

"I thought we both could use a break. And I wanted to show you that there was some good stuff too."

The simplicity of his last sentence was touching.

_So much in so few words. Classic Quinn._

"That boat today?"

"Yeah. Latis. Goodess of the sea and beer. Someone bought it and apparently took good care."

"Irish."

"Yes. Fourth generation though. Their ancestors came during the potato famine, maybe 1850? Never listened that carefully when those stories were told. But I loved the tales about the Latis."

"Perfect combination. Sea and beer."

"Yeah. That's what I came to think as well."

"I figured that much."

He smiled at that and she smiled back, squeezing his hand.

"Wanna go back?"

He wanted to kiss her but certainly not inside with twenty locals watching.

They only spoke again when they were outside again, slowly walking along the harbour.

"When were you here the last time?"

"When I was seven. And then once more. An angry teenager with a hot-wired car."

"And now."

"And now. With you."

"Why now? What changed?"

"There are two answers. One is that I realized there is some stuff I have to deal with and this here might be a good point to start."

They passed the harbour and the Latis and were back to the small path back to the hotel and were nearly there before he spoke again, holding her hand and making them both stop.

"Carrie. This may or might not make sense. And I hardly can make any promises. But the second answer is you. I want this, us, you. I know it took long. But I want to be with you. If you want that. Me."

It was dark so he couldn't see her eyes but he could feel her taking a deep breath.

"What do you think why I'm here?"

There was no answer needed to that question, they both knew that.

Quinn still held her hand, she was a dark relief on the even darker path, out there the light house signals were casting brief flickers of light over the waves and into the darkness, and he was choking on words.

So he raised her hand to his mouth, bent his head and kissed her hand before wrapping his arms around.

"Carrie", she heard him whispering, voice hoarse and near breaking, "Carrie."

They went upstairs, holding hands, and she stopped once on the last landing, to look at him and kiss him and he knew he had to say it soon.

But when they entered the room, kissing again, hot and breathless now, she suddenly broke away and looked at him, and it was more open and vulnerable as he'd ever seen her.

"Are you sure, Quinn? Cause if you're not..."

"I am sure. And it'll last."

"Good."

"C'mere. Please."

Their coats were soon a pile on the floor, their boots kicked next to them, when he slowly walked her backwards while kissing her, his hands entangled in her hair. He felt her fingers on his back, easing under his jumper and shirt, searching and finding naked skin.

She felt the edge of the bed against her legs and felt him gently pushing her down, letting himself fall next to her into the soft covers.

"Let me do this. Carrie, please, I've been wanting this for so long", he was whispering in her ear, nuzzling her neck and then breaking away to untie her cardigan's belt, "God, Carrie, I...it'll take time...but please...let me do this...."

Carrie arched up to kiss him, her hands warm on his lower back.

"God, Quinn, I can't tell you how much I missed you."

She didn't move when he slowly undressed her, just let a soft moan when his hand went under her shirt and around her breast, pulling him in for a kiss.

She shimmied out of her pants and he looked at her, awed by how beautiful she was. Soft white skin, gentle curves, long legs, cream lace.

She sat in his lap, straddling him, and lifted his shirt, leaning in, naked skin finally touching, the soft swell of her breast against his chest, her mouth searching and finding his again, kisses, soft and tender first, then getting deeper, passionate, breathless, his hands on her hips, her ass, that gorgeous ass, nearly naked now, skin so soft, she opened his belt, her hands pushing his pants down, her mouth on his, and they were taking their time. Hands exploring and roaming, deep kisses, sucking lips and probing tongues, he was hard against her hip and when his hand grated over the lacey fabric of her underwear he felt her gasping and how wet she was.

_For me._

She was on top of him now, sprawled on his body, in all her beauty, eyes beaming, a radiating smile and he couldn't help it - "I love you, Carrie, I love you."

Whispered. But he had said it and couldn't take it back.

The smile stopped, Carrie froze, he didn't know what to do, she looked at him, differently now - and sat up, hair tousled, lips swollen, but her eyes were - he didn't know.

So he sat up to, reaching out to her with one arm.

"Carrie. Sorry. I-"

"Say that again." Her voice was low, barely audible.

"Sorry."

"No. Before. What you said before."

"No, Carrie, it's okay. Listen, I shouldn't-", it was an awful moment but what have I been thinking?

"Is that true?"

He saw the tears in her eyes just now and the relief he felt was beyond words.

"Carrie. It is true. I thought you... You read that letter, didn't you?", and after a beat, "That never changed."

"Say that again then", three tears were on her cheeks now, perfectly sculpted, reflecting the shimmer of light of the small bedside lamp.

"I love you Carrie."

"Quinn."

She had no words, couldn't say it, but she didn't have to. He'd always known her, had always understood her deepest fears and so he did now. She saw the understanding in his eyes when he reached for her and pulled her in his lap again and kissed away the tears, his hands and arms covering as much of her skin as possible.

Their caresses were slow and tender now, both knowing they'd crossed a threshold, lust replaced by longing, a yearning they hadn't felt before.

Soon Carrie was naked in his arms, her body sprawled on the soft sheets, alluringly beauteous. He was trailing kisses from her neck along her collarbone, his lips closing around her nipple, sucking and licking, his hand between her legs, feeling her wet entrance and soft curls, dipping a finger into her.

He knew the sounds she made, had heard them a thousand times in his dreams, they'd followed him into the deepest deserts and the darkest nights. And yet it was different now. This was Carrie, in his arms and under his touch. She was making those whimpers for him, she was writhing and moaning and melting into him.

"Quinn...I want you...I want to be with you...", he plunged his finger deeper, biting her nipple, grating himself against her hip, enjoying the shiver down his spine.

"Carrie...I shouldn't...we shouldn't...I'm so sorry...not without...", he withdrew his finger, making her gasp at the sudden loss and cradling her in his arm instead.

"You took care of that?"

Her voice was soft, understanding even.

"I did. I should have told you. But it never felt right."

"No. I get that. So?"

"Everything is fine. Just -"

"Six weeks. HIV. I know."

Of course. She's been there too.

"Yeah."

She felt his hand smoothing over her back and briefly remembered those six weeks some time back. Years back. Before Jonas. Before Brody. Before Quinn. Multiple times in her life.

"We'd need to use condoms anyway. I'm not on the pill. I have some."

"You have condoms?"

She felt his soft chuckle more than she heard it. It felt good, his vibrating chest under her chin.

"You were not the only one getting ahead of himself."

She was about to get up when she felt his hand closing around her arm.

"Hey. I'm not expecting...I'm sure we used condoms...I called her last week to confirm...but I wouldn't expect you...it's okay to wait."

"But what if I don't wanna wait?"

He leant in and smoothed his hand over her left breast, reverently and appreciating, his eyes bright and full of emotion.

"I won't say no, Carrie. But it's your choice."

Carrie finally got up and came back a moment later with a small package in her hand.

"You think if - and I absolutely don't believe that this if will happen - you caught HIV I'll abandon you? I got you back from death. I appreciate you called her. But I don't wanna talk about her. Or them. Never again. That's all I ask."

He didn't answer just looked at her for a long moment, thinking about the fate that had brought them here to this very place and moment.

_Five years now and a lifetime._

Carrie placed the small package on the nightstand and slid back on the bed, under the cover now, closing the distance between them with one smooth movement, but seperated by the cover now.

"I know I probably put you through difficult times..back then...I didn't know it then...but I need this, you seeing her or them, to be over. Cause if not-"

"Hey. Of course it's over."

"Good."

It was a strange and awkward moment, after the intimacy of the hour before, and he wondered how they'd be able to bridge that rift. Time, probably.

So he crawled under the blanket as well, pulling her back into his arms.

They were hesitant first, slowly rebuilding what they'd experienced before.

He'd placed himself on his left side so his right hand, the better one, could roam freely over her body, could worship her curves, and cherish and please her.

Her hands were around his ass, his briefs long gone, her hands kneading and caressing, his hand tangled in her hair, when he pressed her into a kiss and felt her tongue parting his lips again.

She moaned into his mouth and bit his lower lip the moment his hand wandered along her buttocks and then between her legs, caressing the inner side of her thighs and grazing along her entrance.

Her hand wandered, soft strokes and tender movements, and then he felt her encircling him, trailing down his length in a way which made him gasp.

She raised her head and looked at him, a teasing smile in her eyes when she added a bit more pressure and she didn't stop when he turned her on her back to caress those gorgeous breasts.

"More...Quinn...please...", she whispered when he started fondling her breast and her nipple and so he bent down to suck the other one, mesmerized by the sharp hiss she made, followed by those whimpers.

He felt himself hard against her hip, her hands now in his hair, her back arched to bring herself closer to him, apparently longing for more friction and pleasure.

Allowing his instincts to take over he turned her on her side and placed himself behind her, kneading her breast, his cock rubbing against the soft flesh of her buttocks. She was perfect and he told her so, his breath hot on her skin, charged whisper, nuzzling the soft skin just below her ear. Those breast, he could spend hours fondling her tits, playing with her nipples, apparently she liked the firmer touch, kneading and massaging, and when he deliberately slowed down, just ghosted his fingers over the hard bud, his touch elusive now, she bit back a frustrated moan which made him chuckle.

A second later she turned and shoved him playfully on his back, a beautiful smile on her face.

"I can play to."

"I bet you can", smiling back and observing her.

She pushed back the covers, her hands and mouth all over him now, making him silently curse under his breath. His hand was back in her hair, the other one loosely on her gorgeous ass when she came back to his mouth and kissed him, not teasing anymore, a deep kiss, open-mouthed and hot.

This was Carrie, in his arms, wanting him, and it was all that mattered for that precious moment.

She broked the kiss and looked down straight into his eyes, a silent question and a silent answer.

He saw her naked form raising and reaching out for the condom, tearing the foil apart and reaching out for him when he sat up. She rolled it down and leant in to kiss him, tantalizing languorously now.

"That's my revenge", she breathed against his lips, a smile in her voice, no contact except the soft kiss, "you wanna take it slow - I'll take it really slow. Any complaints?"

"No", he tipped her shoulder to and she sank back into the cushions, "no complaints. Just a better idea." And with that his right hand went back down, a long finger entering her, equally slowly as his tongue was invading her mouth. Her breath hitched and he was awed by the smooth snug wetness welcoming him again.

He couldn't count the times he'd fantasized about fucking her, or making love to her or just taking her - Islamabad and later Syria had offered many nights with dark trains of thought he wasn't proud of - and yet this was different. She was writhing under his touch and moaning his name, kissing him back fervently. Her eyes met his when he withdrew the finger and brought himself above her, pinning her between his elbows, one hand smoothing back the hair from her forehead with an oddly tender gesture.

"That okay? I could be on top."

"Carrie", but then after a beat, "it's the hand, not the arm. I won't crush you."

"I wouldn't mind that."

"But I'll take you up on your offer. Next time. Being on top", he kissed her breast and flicked his tongue over her nipple, just once, which made her gasp, "because I want that view, but now I want you exactly like this."

She shifted her legs and opened them, welcoming him, when he entered her slowly, his eyes locked with hers, her hands tightened in his hair. Her legs came around his hips and she locked her heels over his ass so he could even go deeper, shattering the last boundaries. She raised her hips to meet him and it was a slow dance, a slow raise and fall, he was governing a restraint pace, wanting to make it last.

They kept their eyes open, never leaving the other's face, as he slowly moved inside her, her hands roaming over his back and ass, clenching into his shoulders, then framing his face as she pulled him down for another kiss.

"Leave them open. I wanna see you. Please", he whispered.

"Quinn. Oh my God. You have no idea how much I missed you, how much I wanted this, us, you..."

His strokes got faster now, more irregular, and deeper, sensing her breathing getting ragged, her heels burying him inside and not allowing him much range anymore, just into her and staying deep.

His eyes didn't leave her face, mesmerized by the emotions he saw in her eyes.

She was there a moment before him, her body tensed and she tilted her hips upwards, short quick movements, bringing her hand down to his ass and clutching him tight, calling his name. The sudden change of friction took him over the edge too, he felt her clenching around him and dropped his head to kiss and taste her while everything else disappeared.

Collapsing into her body, almost as if he wanted to secure her right under himself, he thrusted a few more times, irregular and slow now, panting and trembling, the whimpers she was still making at each thrust the sweetest encouragement. When they finally stilled she was pressed into the sheets by the sheer force of his weight, unable to move, he was still buried inside her.

She couldn't remember when she'd ever felt what she felt right now.

 

Holding the man she loved.

 

Feeling him inside her, possessing her.

She felt his hand slipping between them and securing the condom when he pulled out with a groan, somewhere between satisfaction and frustration, he shifted himself a bit deeper, avoiding contact to her slit now but settled back into her body.

"I'll get up in a second", but his lips sought hers and betrayed his words and as far as she was concerned she thought he should just stay, holding her, covering all of her.

Her fingertips trailed along his spine, that gentle curve he had there, dipped in and wandered up and then back down.

He shifted, breathing a stiffled laugh against the her mouth, writhing in her arms, letting a content groan and then sank into the hollow of her neck, placing a reverend kiss there.

It was that moment which made her say it.

"You know that I love you, do you?"

She felt him stiffening and then raising on his elbows again, hoovering above her, his eyes seeking and finding hers.

"Yeah. I think I knew that."

She arched up to pull him back into her body, needing his sheer physical presence now.

He went for a quick shower some minutes later, after she'd been to the bathroom, and when he came back she was snuggled against a pillow, wearing a soft tunic shirt with a gorgeous neckline, but Quinn couldn't find a reason to get dressed himself so he just slid back under the cover, relieved when she gravitated into him right away. He couldn't help to notice that her gorgeous ass was still naked under the thin chemise.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Approving your choice of clothes."

"Good."

"Very good."

She snuggled against him as he took her in his arm and rested with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"You okay?", he asked with a low voice, not completely steady.

Carrie raised her head and shifted a bit, just enough to reach his mouth and to kiss him.

"Yeah. You?"

A nod. Very Quinn, short and measured, just before they kissed again.

"Quinn?"

"Uhm?"

They were both sleepy, their caresses had gotten dreamy and languorously, the kisses soft and promising, and he was about to drift away.

"Quinn? I meant it."

"I know. Me too."

"I know."

He kissed her once more, just before sleep finally took him.

Carrie was awake a few minutes longer, indulging in his proximity, listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing, and finally allowing herself to drift into sleep too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Laure who kept me on going. I don't know why but this chapter was difficult. 
> 
> Thanks for all those wonderful comments I got over the last weeks.
> 
> This is my favorite thing to write and your encouragement and feedback means a lot to me.
> 
> The author and the books are real. I read the teen book when I was about 12 and followed his work since then. I had two conversations with him in the last years and he is as nice as Carrie experienced it.
> 
> http://m.dw.com/en/author-rafik-schami-on-german-oddities-and-his-love-of-damascus/a-15182829
> 
>  
> 
> https://en.qantara.de/content/interview-with-rafik-schami-escape-is-a-life-saver
> 
> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/jun/21/dark-side-of-love-rafik-schami?0p19G=c


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk about the chamber.

****  
Quinn woke up, before hitting the floor of the chamber, before losing his bile and everything else, but still covered with sweat and shaking. Carrie was already up and tearing the windows open, the cold winter night bringing him much needed air. She was back at his side then, checking if he was okay.

She was quick and efficient, his respirator, a towl, a shirt, and then finally when she sensed him calming down, a warm hand on his back.

He knew she had been waking him up early and settled back with a groan.

His eyes fell on Carrie who still sat next to him and he saw she was worried.

"C'mere", he couldn't reach out to her, his arm was shaking but he slighty opened and extended it and was glad when she accepted the invitation and settled next to him, "scared?"

"No. Never think that. I was never scared of you. And I never will."

They laid in silence until his breath calmed, she was holding his hand and rubbing small circles into his palm, helping him to focus on the present.

Carrie got up once more to close the windows and came back with a glass of water.

"Need the respirator again?"

"No."

"Anything else?"

"No."

So she was in bed again, next to him, reaching for his hand again.

"Hey. That's okay. Don't worry about me. I was there Quinn. I saw you. And you came back. I can handle helping you after a flashback or a nightmare."

"Yeah. I know."

She settled back at his side, and he knew they had to talk about it.

"You go there every night?"

He groaned and leant his head back against the pillows.

"No. But often."

"Do you know you dream then?"

He contemplated her question for a long moment, Carrie saw his profile in the near-dark room, saw his jaw clenching, he remained silent for so long she thought he maybe would not answer at all.

"It depends. At least that is what I think. Some nights, and the majority of the nights in the first months, I am there. Til the very end."

Carrie waited. There was nothing she could say or do to ease the horror.

This happened. To him. I saw him.

So she kept still, holding his hand and rubbing circles in his palm.

"Other nights I see it like a film sequence. Seeing me but knowing I'm not there anymore. It's like a movie in my mind and I can't control it. Which shouldn't happen, says the shrink. Detaching's never good."

"Great advice", he could hear her anger and felt a brief flicker of warmth, "what is her fucking advice? What would be good?"

"Being there and being able to stop it, to wake up and tell myself it's the past and won't ever happen again. Being scared but coping. Not going through the whole ordeal ever and ever again."

"She has a point there", Carrie admitted, although reluctantly.

"Yeah."

"If I ask a question - you knew you wouldn't need to answer, would you?"

He sighed and she knew what she was asking for. Saying no to her had never been easy for him.

"Go ahead, Carrie. I know you should know."

"You said you knew I was there."

She felt him nodding as his hand was stiffening.

"Want me to stop?"

"It's okay."

"So you were awake til the end."

"Not exactly awake. But there."

"Did you see me?" Her voice was barely audible.

"I don't know. Kind of. I knew you'd try to find a sign in that video. And then I knew you were there. They said it's not possible. But I knew."

"How? What?"

"A light. A shadow. Hands?"

"Yes", Carrie whispered.

"You were there. I knew that. It meant a lot. I was read-"

"Quinn. No. Please don't-", her voice was thick and broke but he knew if he wouldn't go through with it now he never would find the strength.

"You came. Although I couldn't give you a single clue. I couldn't. I wanted. But-"

"You had no chance Quinn. But I did look for a sign. Of course. Astrid and I did."

"I knew you would. If you'd had a single fucking chance-"

"Shhh. C'mere. It's okay now. Come." She settled in the crook of his arm and he caressed her shoulder when he went on talking.

"Once in Syria I was after a target. And then I saw that truck on a farm road. It didn't move for hours. I went there at night. It was a family of six. All dead. Gut-shot. The youngest was barely a year. They just had been at the wrong place, between the lines of rebels and Assad's troops. So when I was in that chamber, I wondered why I survived til then and they died. And why I still couldn't let go. Why you were still there. And I was hoping I could at least... That you'd at least know...it wasn't your fault...I made that call...my very own mistake...and that I should have at least told you...that I could give you a sign...and that I was wrong."

"Quinn. It's okay. Hey", he felt her arms around him, "it's okay. It's behind us."

He knew she was crying, and he probably too. But there was no reason now not to go all the way.

"How did you find me?"

"The video. In the end there was a sign."

"How often?"

"About fifty times."

"God. Carrie."

"I knew you would try if you could."

"And then?"

"The floor tiles lead to a certain artist. And the credit card and phone details of that nephew you mentioned to Dar - they were matched and narrowed it to a few locations."

He knew the rest. Dar, Astrid, Saul, his doctors, they all had told him several times how he'd been evacuated from the chamber. But he'd never asked her how it had been for her.

"When did you see it the first time?"

"In a café. Near your hideout. And then at the BND."

"About fifty times. Carrie, this is -"

"I thought I was too late. I thought I'd lost you", he clutched her as tight as he could, her voice now muffled against his chest, "that I got you back and didn't use that time to tell you...that it happened because of me...that I wasn't there when you needed me...God, Quinn...when I saw you laying there...after seeing that video...what you had-"

"Shhh. Carrie. I'm here. Shhh."

Carrie fought for her composure and Quinn knew she did it for him, that she wanted to go through all of it now and that she probably was right. His palm hurt from Carrie's fingernails cutting into his skin.

"Hey. I'm here. Relax, Carrie. This is not happening today", his voice gentle but determined.

"I'm sorry that I didn't find you sooner. I should've looked -"

"No. Carrie. Not this. I was there because I chose that. You have to understand that. I made a choice. I alone. I misjudged those fuckers and a fucking mistake snowballed into a desaster. But in the beginning is one thing: I myself made a choice. Not you. Not the circumstances. Not anyone else. Me."

It was true and it was the one straw he had had.

This was my choice. I chose this. I made my own choices.

"Wanna talk about the hospital?"

"No. What's there to talk? I had intel and you needed the intel."

"Quinn. But this is not how it felt to me."

"But this is how it should feel to you. Cause I was a soldier, we both were case officers. I was your best shot. One life against tenth of thousands lifes. You had to try."

"Can we put that fucking good soldier attitude away for a moment? Cause this is sick Quinn. If we want this", she made a gesture vaguely pointing at him and the room, "we need to put it all on the table."

"There's nothing to put on the table. Carrie, really", his voice was softer now again, "you all did what you had to do. I'm not saying I'm a fan of the outcome for me personally. But that is what I signed up for. And if we want this", mimicking her earlier gesture but followed by a kiss on her forehead, "we need to find a way to put this behind us. Cause I don't want to have to wonder wether you're with me because of feeling guilty and this being your way of atonement or-"

"Quinn. No", Carrie let go of his hand and set up, her eyebrows arched up, "this is not why I - fuck, you know that, do you?"

"Can you say it Carrie? In the light of the day? That it is not guilt?"

He saw her looking down at him and after being hurt and indignant first her features were softening. He hated himself for questioning but he just had to know.

"Hey", she took his hand again, "you know this is real, do you? I'm not saying I don't feel guilty. But that's not why we are here. And why we - Quinn, I meant it. I want to be with you. If you want that. But don't -"

He wouldn't let her finish her sentence, he had heard what he needed to hear. So he sat up, stiffling a groan when his hand protested with a sharp pang of pain against his sudden shift of weight.

Cupping her cheek he brushed a thumb over her lips.

"Shh. No need to say it. I know. I'm sorry."

She looked at him for a moment but then relaxed and leant into his hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm.

"Don't be sorry. It's just - it's not easy for me either. None of this."

"I know. C'mere. You're freezing."

Glad that she followed his invitation and leant into his shoulder he carefully sunk back and pulled Carrie with him.

"I'm not fucking it up right away, am I?"

"No. Of course not."

"Good."

He gently pressed his forehead against hers, his hand at the back of her nape, before he bent his head to kiss her, carefully and tentativly first but soon deepening.

Carrie sighed against his mouth and he slid a hand under that thin shirt of hers, exploring soft and delicate skin and carressing her slowly.

It was a while later when he whispered "Or you wanna go back to sleep right now?", and she had to smile at the teasing hint of a smile in his voice.

Her shirt was gone, his too, they were back to being naked, sharing kisses and tender caresses.

"Sleeps for the weak", she mumbled against his mouth, and he was pleased with her answer, nuzzling the tender skin of her neck and slowly leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone on his way to her breasts.

"You don't do anything. I just want you to lie there and enjoy", he whispered and took her hands from his shoulders to carefully place them on the pillow, kissing his way back to her shoulders and returning to her breasts.

"You are so fucking beautiful Carrie. I'll never get enough of you, of this."

He spent the next minutes kissing and licking her nipples, tender and delicate first and then slowly build more pressure, sucking her nipples, adding grating teeth every now and then, extremely aroused himself by the sounds she made. He broke away for a moment to look at her: This was Carrie and she was giving herself to him, open, vulnerable and unguarded.

"God. Carrie."

"I'm here. We are here", she raised her arms now and wrapped them around his shoulders to pull him down for a kiss, "this is us, Quinn. Finally."

Again they took it slow. Tender seduction, devoted caresses, hands and lips exploring their bodies, the other's reaction reassurance to go further, deep kisses betraying their want.

It was the early hours of the morning when Carrie rose with a sigh and a smile and came back with another condom envelope in her hand.

"How many do you have?"

"Right now? One?", and then, seeing the corners of his eye crinkling, "oh...I see...the box has ten more I guess..."

"Maybe you wanna place them right here", his eyes went to the nightstand, "cause I hate to let you get up."

He reached out for her and jerked her hand, making her fall onto him.

"Unless", his hands went around her ass and he enjoyed the feeling of her mouth, open and hot, at his neck, "you tell me you already had enough."

Carrie gently bit his neck in return and he took that as an answer, slowly pushing his hands up along her sides.

He splayed his hands, enjoying that he could cover all of her back this way, and turned Carrie on her back, poising over her now.

Their kisses became hot and breathless now and Carrie's arching her back and tilting her hips caused welcome pressure and friction for him. Her hand trailed down his back, he felt her grabbing his ass and shifted slightly for a better range to bring his hand down to her folds. She gasped when he slowly grated her entrance, her hip canting against his hardon, and he slowly invaded her with one finger.

It felt heartbreakingly good.

He slowly fucked her with that long finger, moving in and back out at a restraint pace, his eyes never leaving her face in those early hours just before dawn. Her skin was pale, her head bent back, her neck exposed and her eyes were closed. He'd never seen her more beautiful and more vulnerable.

Carrie opened her eyes that moment and sought his gaze, smiling at him when her eyes locked with his.

With her arms around his shoulders, she pulled herself a bit up, softly moaning close to his ear now as he kept moving his finger.

"God, Quinn...you enjoy watching? Turn round then. We said I'd be on top this time. So you can watch."

Her breath hitched when he withdrew his finger one last time, and let himself fall back into the cushions. Now she was smiling down at him, watching his face as her hand fished for the condom on the nightstand, teared the wrapper open and rolled it down his shaft. She straddled him, shimmying her hips like a belly dancer, rubbing herself against his cock and then slowly lowering herself as he held her hips.

He couldn't help it but had to watch. Her slender form sinking down on him, his cock disappearing into her as they joined, her small breast, firm and round, her face as she bit her lower lip and braced her hands on his chest to support herself.

Carrie set the pace and rhythm, her eyes never left his face, her hands went around his when he started fondling her breasts, and alone watching her was nearly enough to make him come. Quinn felt his orgasm building up at the base of his spine, Carrie was riding him now with rocking hips and he met her with short and fast thrusts while pushing her down with his hands around her hips. She was making whimpering sounds which came more rapid and ragged when he brough his right hand between her legs and let his thumb find her clit with soft rubbing movements. He'd be there any moment and he wanted her to go with him. Her rhythm was getting fast and irregular now, he felt her muscles clenching around him, heard her crying his name and was there himself after two more hard thrusts.

"Fuck...Carrie...oh my God...Carrie..."

He was dissolving into pleasure, his vision blurred, he felt her collapsing on his chest, the change of friction causing another jolt rushing through him, Carrie gasped again and whispered his name, close to his ear now, and clung to his shoulders.

He held her as tightly as he could while they slowly descended, whispering incoherent nothings in her ear just because of the soft moans she made then.

When he couldn't prolong the moment any longer his right went down to secure the condom while pulling out, shifting her a bit but keeping her enveloped in his arms.

They kissed again, he had a feeling that sleep would be a rare occasion over the next days, this was just too good to be missed.

While slowly caressing her back and listening to her breathing he wondered what had changed, why this was suddenly possible and why the closeness of the last days didn't cause an urge to run. He was a mess in so many ways, nightmares and flashbacks wouldn't just disappear, this night just had been proving it, and he didn't expect that to get better anytime soon, if ever. He wasn't even sure how he should manage to ever spend a night with Carrie with Frannie around nor could he come up with a plausible scenario how his life or maybe their lives would work when they were going to leave that comfortable bubble they had created and nurtured over the last few days. But he knew he wanted this, had wanted it for so long all those years back, had realized in Berlin that he'd never been able to shake it off, it had been buried, yes, partitioned and buried, but the minute he'd seen her he'd been hooked again. He'd wanted her to live.

For selfish reason. And unselfish reasons. Facilitating her escape would be the one good deed left against all what he'd done over the years before. He hadn't expected any form of higher judgement, his religious upbringing had been long lost anyway, but as trite as it was - the thought of leaving for her, to give his life for her...had added at least some deeper meaning against the craziness his life had been.

That, and Frannie. Giving Frannie a chance to grow up without being an orphan, without never knowing why, when and where her mother had died.

There had been nobody he would had left behind so that had been a rational and easy decision.

But then, that lawyer, why lie? He'd told him - in the light of the day a preposterous and even smug move.

For her, you would.

Of course he'd known the answer.

That guy had just the bad luck of not knowing his lover - a fate he probably shared with more people as one could count - but gutshot and septic or not, someone had had to call him on his recreancy.

Left the selfish reasons. She'd never stopped looking for him. It had mattered. She'd been under his skin from the moment he'd seen her name on that sheet of paper, drilling deeper every second they'd spent together.

He'd wanted her to remember him.

Yours for always now.

Almost three years later, and it had never changed.

And when he'd been running out of options he'd played the only card which had been left.

He'd spent all his adult life in taking calculated risks. Always with the knowledge the price could be his own life any given day. He'd never considered the option to come out as broken as he'd been after Berlin. Mentally broken. The physical impediments sucked. But could still get better. But the panic, fear, flashbacks, horror he dealt with ever since, not being able to control his fucking mind, where his thoughts went, to detach from his conscious thinking nearly every fucking day because it was the only way to prevent him from losing his mind - he had not calculated that into the equation, never.

So, what had changed? Not so much. He still loved her. He always would. But somehow over those many months there'd grown a glimpse of hope. Carefully nurtured by Carrie. She'd been always there.

There'd been no reason to carry on if not for her.

And somehow he'd been able to admit it.

To himself and to her.

He had no idea how long he'd been lost in thoughts but when he came back to the present, Carrie was still draped over his chest, his hand on her lower back, her fingers sleepily stroking his arm every now and then. He was breathing in her hair, she'd locked her leg around his knee and kissed his neck, a brief soft kiss.

He was scared to fuck it up. Because he knew they'd probably not able to find their way back to each other once more. If they didn't use that chance now they both would not be able to come up with the required strength once more.

But it was real.

"Hey, c'mere", he locked his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her up, nuzzling the soft skin at her neck and whispered "I love you."

Carrie drifted back to sleep a while later and Quinn was surprised as he noticed he was slowly gliding into another round as well. But why resist, chances were this were the most restful hours he'd get these days.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Carrie spent a few days by the sea, at a place which is very special to Quinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a long time to get back here - hope you'll still enjoy.

Quinn had the luxury of four hours uninterrupted and dreamless sleep, it was nearly nine when he woke up again. With the usual start, but still well rested. Carrie wasn't there but he heard the shower running and realized after a second that there was the faint smell of coffee around him. And right, he shifted, turned his head and found a steaming cup on his nightstand.

And that was more or less all good the morning had to offer right now because his hand and leg were a painful mess. He had not taken his pills since yesterday morning and that was revenge now.

Carrie re-emerged from the bathroom when he just managed to arrange himself into a seating position and sip his coffee, he heard her in his back but turning around would take longer than to wait for her rounding the bed. The water of the shower was still running and maybe that was the best idea, it would at least fight some of the muscles aches.

Carrie climbed the bed behind him, he felt her arms wrapping around him and a soft kiss on his left shoulderblade.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

Apparently she wasn't feeling an urge to run or to be shy and he was glad. Maybe the morning wasn't so bad after all.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

He allowed himself to lean in, just for a moment longer, Carrie smelled good and was pressed against his back and maybe he could handle the pain just a moment longer.

"What is it, Quinn?"

She detached and her face came into his visual field, stern Carrie-stare with a bit of concern.

"What?"

"You're hurting."

"I'm fine."

"You are, huh? Where are your pills?"

She left the bed and rummaged through is duffel and he knew what was coming when she only found the vials with Valium, Metamizole and a single Ambien.

"That's not what you used to take."

"No."

"Where's the rest?"

"I didn't bring enough."

"Jeez, Quinn, why not?"

"Remember? I planned to be here a day, alone. I planned to be back to New York yesterday afternoon."

He saw her face working while she studied the vials.

"Is that one a painkiller? Metamizole?"

"Yeah."

"Anything I need to know? Like, will you get dizzy, need to sleep, anything else?"

"No."

She gave him the open vial and he dry swallowed two pills.

"Hey", she sat next to him now again, heartbreakingly beautiful in just her underwear, her hair still damp, "this happens. It might happen again. It's okay."

"I'm still no fan."

"I get that. Want me to drive you back to New York?"

He looked at her, trying to understand what this was about, thinking he should just ask.

"Do you want to go back? Cause-"

"You'll need your meds. Those will help with the pain but not for long."

"I could see someone here. Get new prescriptions. If you want to stay a little longer."

Her face softened, it was beautiful to see and a relief that he hadn't misread her.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?"

"Yeah. Maybe a day or two? It's not that I have to be anywhere, so we can go back anytime you want but I'd like to stay longer."

"I'd like that too. But, seeing a doctor here - he might recognize you", she had to tell him now, "people recognized you yesterday at the restaurant."

"I know Carrie", which was a surprise for her, he could see it on her face, "people always recognize me. But here it might be for some other reasons than elsewhere."

He saw her processing his answer and then nodding.

"Do you want me to call my sister? She's a doctor. I could ask her for a prescription and drive back to get it. It's just two hours."

"No", and then a bit softer, "I haven't seen her in years. This is not how I wanna introduce myself. I'll see someone here and get what I need. I still can call my doctor in New York to email instructions in case there's any problem. Hey. The stuff I'm taking these days is legal. Any doctor will be okay with handing it out. And now c'mere."

He pulled her close, wondering when that had started - that they could talk without breaking into a fight, that she was willing to take a 'no' as an answer and that he could accept her concern as what it was, a proof of affection.

But he didn't want this morning just to be about his limitations.

"Hey", his voice was low now, just below her ear, "about last night...you felt incredible. Every single second."

Carrie shifted and ignoring the gnawing pain in his leg he lifted her and placed her squarely in his lap. Her arms went around his neck and he enjoyed the feeling of her soft skin against his chest.

"Same goes for you."

She leant in, smiling, and he was hoping she enjoyed that moment as much as he did. They were at the threshold to something new, a relationship they both never had before. And it was important to him to let her know what it meant to him.

"I don't want to go back today. I think we could use some more time here. I could use more time with you."

"Yeah. I'd like that" Carrie stated quietly, still leant against him.

"And as I said I'd like to show you something. After breakfast and getting my pills."

"Okay."

He sighed, kissed her again and put her on her feet to make his way to the shower then.

\------------------------

The morning passed quickly. The Metamizole kicked in while he was having his shower so there were finally some minutes of promising kisses when he came back to the room. Carrie stopped it, laughing and still just half dressed, saying she was hungry but promised more for later.

But she kissed him again before they went downstairs.

She drove him to the local doctor after breakfast, saying she needed to make some phone calls and would wait for him at the coffee shop they'd passed on their way into the small town.

Getting the prescriptions wasn't a big deal, the doctor spoke to his case doctor at the VA and he was done ten minutes later.

"They asked me to tell you to schedule your therapy sessions."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"They said, it's important."

"Yeah. I get that."

The middle-aged man finally dropped the topic and he was free to leave, feeling a little overwhelmed with having a stranger confronting him with his refusal of therapy. Because in the light of the day it felt ridiculous.

But well.

He slowly went across the market square to find a pharmacy, finding out that they carried most of his stuff. Just the antidepressants had to be ordered and would be ready for pick up late in the afternoon. Which reminded him of another one of his shortcomings these days - his unability to drive. Carrie would have to pick them up. She wouldn't mind but he felt embarrassed by his own dependency.

He swallowed a Robaxin and a Dantrium, and another Metamizole. That should keep him going for a few more hours but he'd probably need a break in the afternoon.

That, and maybe more time with Carrie... He wondered if he should suggest, midday. But the morning hadn't offered enough time with her.

He'd reached the coffee shop over his musings but she wasn't there. But he saw her down at the waterline, pacing up and down and speaking on the phone. He hadn't seen this Carrie for a long while and he decided he was allowed to watch her, remembering fierce Carrie on a mission. He'd spent years to hover around, observing, trying to protect her. The irony that it was now her who had saved him wasn't lost on him.

He sat by the window and ordered two cups of coffee when he saw her walking back, still on the phone with a furrowed brow and speaking rapidly. But then she finished, took a deep breath and pocketed her phone after muting it.

He didn't ask what the call was about, she'd tell sooner or later.

"Hey. That was quick."

"I just needed a prescription. That's easy."

"So all set?"

He nodded, pleased to see her gradually relaxing.

They finished their coffee in silence while he felt the meds kicking in. His leg was uncramping, the constant pain in his hand got lesser until the burning sensation stopped. Which was rare and pointed towards a good day. A very good day, actually.

"Okay to go for a walk?"

"If you are okay. Yeah, I'd like that."

"It's about a mile. A little more."

Carrie looked at him in surprise but decided not to comment and soon they were down to the beach, slowly walking in the direction of their hotel and the small village.

Quinn's arm was around her shoulder again and they were both surprised how normal this was suddenly.

"I spoke to Elizabeth. And Saul", Carrie eventually broke the topic.

"Figured that."

"I accepted Elizabeth's offer."

"I know."

"How do you now? I didn't until this morning. And still have doubts."

He chuckled.

"That's not funny," her elbow went into his ribs, "I want an answer."

"I told you Thanksgiving. It's who you are. A place where the choices you make are aligned with your values. Where you can set up a new paradigm."

She was touched that he remembered her words but he wasn't done yet.

"I thought about that a lot. Remember what I told you about wanting to be the lighthouse keeper? Not the small trawler, but guiding the small trawlers."

She did remember that and it stirred some other memories in her as well, again.

So she walked even slower, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Does it bother you?"

He weighed his answer carefully.

"It's who you are. And I wouldn't wanna change you. It's your call."

"But I'm asking you."

"It's an opportunity. And you'll be good at it. Whereas the foundation, without Reza it's probably difficult anyway. And it's not the CIA. No covert missions on foreign soil."

No putting yourself out there as bait for fucking maniacs.

"It's in Washington."

"I know."

"I'd eventually have to move. With Frannie."

"Yeah."

"Fuck Quinn, I... I mean, you could... I don't know, I mean we don't... but I don't like...", she fell silent but he knew they had to talk about it so he finished the sentence for her.

"...me staying alone in New York."

"Yes. No. I mean you live there and I won't..."

"Hey. I'm there because you brought me there. And I won't stay there forever. But right now it's okay."

"You're not coming to Washington."

Her tone was even, a bit flat maybe, and she didn't know how to explain her emotions. They were far from making plans together - but making that decision without considering the impact on him didn't feel right either.

"No. Not now at least. But," he stopped her and made her look at him, "this doesn't mean that I won't see you. It's not that far. I come visit if you want that."

"I want that."

"And you can come visit too. We can make an actual attempt at sightseeing."

That earned him a smile.

"I'm so not gonna fuck you in Max' spare room."

"Never say never, Carrie," he smiled too, relieved for the lighter tone, "I'll take you up on that. But I said there's something I wanna show you."

He pointed up to a small wooden house, with a small garden and a glass annexe overlooking the beach. It needed a new coat of paint and some of the windows seemed rather old but it was a serene sight, the house in the snow near the ocean, surrounded by a few Aleppo pines.

"What's that, Quinn?"

"A house. It's mine."

He could see her connecting the dots and the wheels in her head turning.

"So this is where you lived as a kid? When visiting your grandparents?"

"Yeah."

"How come it's yours?"

They slowly walked towards the house, her hand in his now.

"When they died it went to some distant relative, my parents died that year too, and I never...," he felt her thumb brushing over his knuckles, "I never knew it was still in the family. I was just a kid."

"And then?"

"A few years ago, that person who owned it then died and through some sleuthing they found me. Through a lawyer I was in contact with because of some other stuff", it had been settling John's adoption for Julia's husband and that had happened with using his birth name, "it was a weird co-incidence. But that's how it came back to me."

"And you kept it."

"I didn't come here then. It was just before I shipped out to Islamabad. And then... well, you know the rest."

She fell silent for a moment, taking in the reality of his words. All those missed years, just because of one bad decision that night, more than three years back.

"Hey", he sensed her mood swing, "this is not why I brought you here. There's no furniture inside but... you wanna see it?"

"Of course I want to see it."

He lead her to the front entrance and she followed him inside. A small hallway leading to a living room with the adjacent sun room, a small kitchen to the other side. Wooden stairs, painted white and blue, lead upstairs where she found four doors, three bedrooms and one bathroom. The last room had an alcove facing the sea.

"This was my room when I was here. I used to sit there for hours and watch out for the waves or my grandfather coming home."

She hadn't noticed that Quinn had followed her into the room but he stood right behind her and put his hand on her shoulder as he spoke quietly.

"It's a beautiful place Quinn. Thank you for bringing me here and telling me."

"Carrie...," his voice was hoarse now, "I'm not good at this. I have no idea what's gonna happen next. I can't offer you anything. But I... I want this... us... I have no idea how we'll make it work. But I want this."

Carrie turned around while he spoke and looked at him, after all those years they were at this juncture again. And this time she knew her answer.

"Quinn. Stop. I want this too. We'll figure it out. We'll learn how to do this. We are not doing too bad. Are we?"

He held her gaze a moment longer, she was mesmerized by the warmth in his eyes, before he made them sit down on the bench in the alcove.

"We aren't doing too bad, no. Really not. Neither you nor me did run away yet."

"Feel like that?"

He looked at her for a moment before answering, thoughtfully and searching the right words.

"There were moments. Yes. And I guess there will be more of these moments ahead of us."

"Yeah. True."

"Let me finish. But, we fight these moments. At least I will."

"Me too. I will."

"C'mere."

Quinn pulled her in, holding her gaze for a moment before he kissed her.

They had shared more urgent, more passionate kisses. This was a tender kiss, soft and tentative, gentle exploring, and he sighed and broke away when Carrie leant against him and hold her close, burying his face in her hair.

"What will you do with this house?", Carrie asked after a while.

"Keep it. Maybe come here for a few weeks. Or months. It's just an hour from Washington."

"I know."

"So I hope for a visitor some nights a week."

That made Carrie detach and look at him.

"So not New York?"

"For a few more weeks. I probably should finish therapy."

"Or actually start it."

"Right. Thanks."

"C'mon Quinn."

"Yeah. But then, I'd like to come here."

"Healing."

"Think that works?" His voice was doubtful.

"They say time heals. Not sure though."

He took a moment to weigh her words, trying to come up with an answer which would both do justice to what he felt and what she was right to expect.

"Time is not healing anything. Time does help to cope I think. I can look back now and accept that this here has been part of my life. That this probably is where it all started. But healing? There was always a before and an after. And I guess the only way to deal with the after was to forget the before."

"And now?"

"I don't know. There is no magic cure, no miracle. I am a fucking mess in so many ways. But - somehow I'm still here and didn't die."

"You ever considered suicide?"

"I wouldn't label it as suicide. There was not enough left of me after Berlin to name it suicide, it would've been finishing someone else's job."

"But you didn't do it."

"No. I thought about it. A lot. But in the end - that's not me."

"I considered finishing it for you."

He hadn't known that. Did it surprise him? No.

"When?"

"Berlin. A few days after the stroke. A few days before you woke up."

"Why didn't you?"

"Don't laugh."

"I won't."

"When I wanted... you looked so peaceful. There were rays of light filtering through the curtains. And I'd never seen you so peaceful when awake. So I just couldn't let you go. I was hoping for you to find a way back."

They didn't talk for a long while then. But it was okay. With his arm around her shoulder and her hand on his knee it was okay to talk about it. Because somehow he'd found a way back.

"Carrie... I was always alone. It never felt good, but right. And then it didn't feel right anymore. But now..."

"Now feels good?"

"Yeah."

The small yard was powdered with a thin layer of snow and the ocean glittered in the cold winter sun as they sat in the window and watched the perennial pattern of the waves, Carrie's head against his shoulder.

It had started the night after Max had brought him to her place. He hadn't known back then. But this had been the day when it had begun. The way back.

\------------------

Carrie went to get the car and his meds a while later, there was no way he could do that walk now again and expect not to be completely exhausted then.

And to his own surprise it was okay. He could wait for her. He would get better, eventually. It sucked, yes, but it was his choice to do more about it.

Carrie picked him up on the way back and they had lunch at the harbour shop where they had had coffee the day before.

It felt strange but good to have these days with so much time.

"How do you feel about your decision?", he asked her while having coffee after their sandwiches.

"Good. Excited even", she smiled, "a bit overwhelming maybe though."

"You'll do great."

He meant it.

"What about you?"

"I don't know, Carrie. I'll figure that out. I hope."

"You'll find something."

"Right."

They went back to the hotel shortly after, he needed a break, she saw him getting slower, less focused, and she knew he wouldn't want her to comment on it so she didn't.

But when she was about to pick up her book and leave the room like the day before he held her back.

"Mind staying?", he asked with a quiet voice.

Carrie looked up and saw the corners of his mouth curling up in a small smile.

He hoped she would say yes, knowing that they both had to get used to their new dynamic and his weaknesses. The later were probably more difficult for him than for her he thought.

"I'd like to stay."

He wouldn't sleep now, not right away, at least not if he had a say in this. And he knew she knew when he saw her smiling.

So he pulled her in for an embrace, she dropped her book on the small sideboard as she leant in and when he kissed her he felt the corners of her mouth curling up into a smile.

"No nap now?", Carrie teased between two kisses.

"Not right away."

His hand was already slowly making its way beneath the layers of clothes, she felt him touching her small back, splaying his hand and gently pressing her closer as she kissed him again, tasting the coffee they just had had on his tongue.

He let her do the undressing, slowly, while kissing, and let himself fall onto the bed when they were both only wearing underwear, pulling her with him so she landed on his chest.

A while later she sat up again and reached back to open her bra, slowly sliding it off her shoulders then. It was a beautiful visual, Carrie in the bright light of the sunny early winter afternoon, her white skin, her eyes locked with his, sitting on her heels and undressing for him. He reached out for her wrist and pulled her back to lie on top of him, feeling a yearning he hadn't known before.

His hand was trailing south, under the fabric of her underwear, feeling the soft skin again, enjoying her body pressed into him, feeling pleasant friction. When he pushed her panties down she laughed against his mouth, shoved his briefs down too and kissed him again, languorously and slowly now, enjoying the feeling of his hand roaming up and down her back, around her buttocks, along her spine and the sides of her breasts.

She felt his left hand coming to rest on her shoulder, large and warm, he rarely used it to touch her, and it made her heart swell with a sudden surge of love that he did it now.

So she kissed him once more, her mouth open, her tongue slowly trailing his lips and then swirling around his tongue, and let her hands wander down his chest and abdomen, exploring his body at a tantalizing slow pace.

She shifted to lie next to him, pressed into his side and let her hand wander south, making contact, palming and then encircling his length.

She breathed a laugh and placed a kiss the corner of his mouth when his breathing hitched and he closed his eyes but went on, slow pace, deliberately not enough pressure but so good.

When his hips bucked and he was longing for firmer touch and more friction she stilled, causing him to open his eyes, but she smiled and leant in to kiss him, his hand went at the back of her head, tangling into her hair as he received her kiss, and she fished for a condom from the nightstand.

She opened the envelope but he sat up and rolled it down himself and she tipped against his shoulder, making him sit back against the cushions as she climbed into his lap to straddle him.

"What do you think?", with a teasing smile.

"Carrie", he breathed, wondering if she didn't know that whatever she would suggest and want - he would do it.

And this was how they made love, sitting on their bed, her legs around his waist, his arms wrapped around her, a hand splayed on her back, roaming up and down, tracing her gentle curves, and then on her hips, Carrie setting a slow pace first, rocking and shimmying her hips.

"I get to do all the work so I get to decide", she whispered in his ear, her hair tickling his chest.

"I didn't complain", he replied, his voice equally low, with a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

But when he kissed her his hand went around her breast, and he brushed his finger over her nipple, followed by soft circles, and this was when her breathing got ragged and she clinged to his shoulders.

"Quinn... this... God... Quinn..."

But she kept it a slow raise and fall, Quinn deep inside her, her head bent back so her could kiss and nuzzle the exposed curve of her neck, feeling her pulse hammering under his mouth.

Her breathing told him when she was close, he lowered his hand to find her center and took her over the edge. He felt her clenching around him, was there himself, feeling Carrie trembling, and wrapped her in his arms, as much skin contact as possible, his face buried in her hair, his mouth finding delicate skin, kissing her neck below her earlobe.

This was how he sank back into the pillows, Carrie clutched against him, his right hand splayed on her back while they slowly descended.

"I could get used to these kind of breaks", he smiled when he'd pulled himself out of her and they settled under the covers, Carrie curling on her side, her hand on his abdomen.

"Let's stay here all afternoon. It's cold outside and we already did a walk. Don't let us get too healthy and well-behaved, okay?"

  
That made him laugh, but why would he deny Carrie a lazy afternoon in bed?

She turned and he spooned her from behind and this was how they both dozed off after a while.

\--------------------

She wasn't in bed anymore when he woke up and he felt his heartbeat quickening in an instant but then he saw her sitting in the window with her book. She was wearing the blue cardigan but her legs were naked. She looked - peaceful. He'd never seen her like this, having time off and reading just for enjoyment, hopefully just waiting for him to wake up and come back to bed then.

She looked up when she sensed him moving and looked at him, quizzically at first, then her features were softening and she got up and sat next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I did, until about half an hour. But then Franny called so I got up and face-timed with her. I was surprised you didn't hear me."

"The meds. I'm pretty knocked out in the afternoons."

He hated saying it. But it was what it was.

"Hey. No conspiracy around the corner here. It's okay to sleep, I mean, to really sleep. You don't sleep  
much at nights."

"Yeah."

It was true. He didn't sleep much at nights. But it was new to share and discuss these things.

"And now? Franny's okay?," he investigated thinking it might be the right thing to ask, hearing 'Uncle Max' voice in his ear.

"She's doing great. She likes being with her cousins. New York is kind of lonely for her."

"C'mere", he raised the bed cover to invite her back, glad when she immediately crawled under and lay down with her head on his shoulder, "you said so. When will you move back?"

"I need to find a place. Close to my family. And a school for Franny. After Christmas maybe."

They stayed there the rest of the afternoon, long lazy hours in bed, snuggling, soft caresses and kisses, talking and watching the early winter darkness behind the large windows, the lightshouse casting its signals after nightfall, enjoying each other's presence, finally.

It was already after eight when they went for dinner, back to the pub where they'd been two nights ago, just for a quick dinner and then back to their room.

Those few stolen days together, the sudden peace, shutting out everything else, just the two of them, it wouldn't last forever and so they both felt the silent agreement to make most of the time and not to question too much what would happen next.

\----------------

Carrie had a nightmare that night.

She was silent and didn't wake up but Quinn woke up, disoriented for a second too long but then understanding her tossing and turning and surpressed moans, the back of her hand against her mouth, silencing herself.

He realized that she probably had years of history of hiding her personal pain. Her daughter. Her sister. That guy in Germany. And nobody to comfort her.

"Hey. Hey. Carrie," she rolled on her left side, knees to her chest, "Carrie. It's okay. Wake up."

He didn't want to scare her, so he just held her by her shoulder and leant in, speaking to her in a low voice, ignoring the spasms in his hand.

"Carrie. It's okay. You are safe. It's a nightmare. It's me. Quinn. You are with me. Shhhh. It's okay. It's not real. It's not happening now."

She was awake now, he felt her trying to take a deep breath but she couldn't, her breathing was ragged and unsteady.

"Try again. It's okay. Just breathe. Just try. I know it's hard. But you are okay Carrie. Just try. None of this happens now. You just have to breathe."

Carrie felt his hand on her upper arm, warm and steady, his body solid behind her back, his voice, calm and measured.

And then she could breathe again, stertorously first and then more easily.

"This is better. And now let go of your knees. Try to relax."

She felt his hand wandering to her nape and then between her shoulder blades, gentle but firm enough pressure and tried to loosen the tension in her muscles.

Quinn's hand was splayed on her back and went slowly down along her spine, warm and reassuring.

And so she finally could let go.

He felt the tension going out of her, a long exhale followed by a deep breath and then her shoulders relaxed.

"And now c'mere. Turn around."

He didn't ask her what the dream had been about, it wouldn't make a difference. But he wrapped her in his arms and held her, long and tight, her face buried in the crook between his shoulder and neck, his hand stroking her back, wondering what she'd been doing in all the nights before. But he knew the answer. Lying awake, being miserable, contemplating the past and fighting the panic to raise again in the chest. Just that she had a daughter to take care for and had learnt to fight her demons alone and silently, unnoticed by the other members of the respective household. And got up the next morning, facing another day of demanding work and being a mom.

"Quinn..."

"I know. It's okay Carrie. I got you. It's okay."

When he finally loosened his grip she was sleepy again so he kissed her forehead and held her in a lose embrace until she drifted off again.

It was nearly 5am and he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep easily so he got up, took his pills, waited for them to kick in and brewed some coffee then. Carrie was deep asleep now and he took a long moment to watch. She was relaxed now, her features softened, breathing calmly, curled up into a ball.

It was just a few days since they'd met Saturday and yet everything was so different now.

He considered going for a walk but then thought - or maybe hoped - she might prefer him to be here when she was going to wake up.

Yesterday afternoon, and later at night after dinner - it had felt different. Real. So he finally settled back in bed, taking one of her books and read until she was going to wake up.

\------------------------

Carrie told him a few hours later during a beach walk that she wanted to go back to her sister's place the next day, again offering him to join them.

But he had other plans, therapy appointments mostly, and still didn't feel comfortable with the idea of meeting her family.

"So, I'll see you in New York then?"

"Yes."

"Are you taking me out for breakfast?"

He smiled about her cheeky smile.

"I'll invite you to Max' place and heat soup for you."

"Classy."

"That's all I have to offer."

He felt her hand closing around his, in his coat pocket.

"No, Quinn, and you know that."

He just shrugged, what was there to say? These days had been a bubble from the real world and it wouldn't be all smooth sailing.

"Quinn?"

She looked at him, and made them stop.

"There's one other thing. Reza... he wants to see me before he gets taken from the hospital."

"Why?"

"He asked Saul numerous times. Saul told me yesterday.

"Will you go?"

"Yes. I think I should."

"Want me to come with you?"

He didn't like the thought of her seeing that scumbag again but knew she would go anyway.

"No. That's between Reza and me."

"Right."

He made a step away from her, unintentionally, but her hand was still around his wrist so he felt her grip closing.

"But... I'd like to meet afterwards. Maybe you could pick me up there?"

"I don't drive."

"Nobody does in New York. I wasn't talking about a car."

"So that's Saturday?"

"No. Monday morning. Cops will pick him up at 12."

"Right."

"Fine."

They were walking at a slow pace now again and both silent in thoughts for a moment.

But then she felt his arm around her shoulder and a brief kiss on her temple.

"Sorry. I'll be there."

"We'll figure it out Quinn. Right?"

She looked up to him and the moment of tension was gone. It wouldn't be easy but they'd figure it out, somehow.

\-----------------------------

He arrived in New York Wednesday evening. They'd stayed by the sea til midday and then Carrie had dropped him at the station in Washington. It had been a strange feeling to walk through the station with her by his side, to buy a ticket and to kiss her good-bye, to hear her "I'll see you soon", and to see her walk away, a small figure with a very straight back, long and fast steps.

He bought some microwave dinners and a couple of beers when arriving in New York, thinking he probably should have texted Max a few days ago where he was.

Max was home when he arrived.

"I brought dinner."

"Hello, Quinn. How are you? Glad you are still alive. What are we having?"

"Asian stir fries or pasta."

"Did Carrie buy these?"

"Nope."

"Where is she?"

"I killed her and disposed her body in the ocean. Max, relax. She's fine. Frannie's too."

"You never know with guys like you."

"Thank you very much."

"Mind telling me where you've been? Assuming Carrie was with you?"

"We took a break."

"That's what it's called now?"

"By the sea."

"You make a crap comedian."

"I'm not kidding."

"So you went for a what? Vacation? Weekend getaway?"

Quinn couldn't blame Max for the irony in his voice. Talking about it made it feel very unreal for himself too.

"Dunno how you call it. She needed a break."

"Sure she did."

And with that Max attention went to the food on his plate.

They finished their dinner in silence. Max got up when they were done and grapped his jacket.

"You do the dishes."

"Where are you going?"

"You were AWOL for five days. It's not that I have to tell you where I'm going."

But a small smile spread over his face.

"Carrie called you, didn't she?"

"Yes. She texted me that you're with her. Man, otherwise I'd reported you missing."

"Sorry."

He hadn't thought about it.

"And you? A beer with some buddies?"

"Nope."

"Mysterious."

"Yes."

"Surveillance night."

"No. A glass of wine with someone I met at work." And that small smile again.

And then he was gone.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter, concluding a year of narrative, and a year of writing.
> 
> Several first times - and one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 6.12, I couldn't come to this AU for a long time whereas I knew ever since last September how I wanted to end this story.
> 
> Probably you know me by now - it could much longer than expected.
> 
> For inchbyinch, whose great comments always make me think.

The first time Quinn met Carrie in New York again was at the hospital, after she saw Reza.

She'd texted him late the night before and of course he was there.

He'd gotten up at five to give his meds enough time to kick in and do their magic, and his limbs to perform smoother movements.

Max had joined him for a cup of coffee before dawn, greeting him with a quiet _Morning_ , adding that he was going to take Franny to school.

"Wanna come with and join Carrie for her trip to the hospital?"

"No. She asked me to be there after."

"I see."

Quinn knew that Carrie needed to go there alone, but of course wished it were different. God, he wished none of this mess had ever happened. That it wouldn't be so fucking hard for her.

_So few people she ever trusted. And one of them betrayed her._

They hadn't seen each other since she'd dropped him at the station, but they'd spoken on phone the evening of following day. She'd called him, he'd been in bed already, and after that call - talking about Franny and her building a snowman - he'd sunk back into his pillow, astonished that this was suddenly part of his life: Carrie calling him to say goodnight, she'd paused a second just before they'd been about to finish the call and then she'd offered a quiet _"I miss you"_.

The reality of these words had followed him into his sleep, and had been a shelter when he'd woken up after the usual nightmare in the middle of the night.

And now, Reza at the hospital. 

Quinn saw her stepping out of the elevator, pale but apparently calm, and stood up to make himself seen. 

"Hey. Coffee?", he asked when she reached him, her hands in her pockets, sensing her tautness.

"Yes."

Carrie wanted to wait at the counter and get the coffee but Quinn briefly touched her shoulder and asked her to sit.

He walked twice, carrying one mug each, and so she had a few moments for herself, deliberately trying to breathe steadily and relax her shoulders.

"Wanna tell?", he asked when he sat down opposite of her.

"Nothing new. You know how these things go. Sudden conscience to save one's ass."

"Right. And you? How are you?"

"I didn't sleep much. But I'm okay now. Just-"

"Yeah?"

"I can't get it into my head how I could've been so wrong."

"I know."

They sat in silence, drinking their coffee, and when she took her last sip, Quinn reached over the table, briefly squeezing her hand which earned him a small smile.

"Let's go. I'll bring you home. Or do you need to go somewhere?"

"No. Franny will be home by 3 today. And I gave Latisha the afternoon off."

"Then let's go."

They took a cab, Carrie sat silent in the backseat next to him, looking out of the window. It had started to snow again, but the snow turned into a grey sticky mass the second in touched earth's surface.

When they arrived at her place Carrie sat down on a stuffed chair near the window after she slipped out of her boots, pulling her knees up to her chin, her head falling back against the backrest.

Quinn wasn't sure whether she wanted him to stay or leave, his impulse would be to leave now, but after the weekend - maybe he should just ask and not sneak out, hiding from the conversation they probably needed to have.

"Anything you need?", he tried, surprised when this earned him a genuine smile.

"Tea maybe?"

So he retreated to the kitchen, rummaging through her cabinets where he found some herbal tea.

Carrie followed him when he was waiting for the water to boil, his thoughts wandering so she caught him off guard when he suddenly felt her hand on his lower back.

She pulled back when he winced.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I-"

But then she pressed her lips together and turned away, busying herself with finding two mugs in the cabinet.

"No. It's- I'm sorry. I shouldn't-", _why is this all so difficult again_ , "Carrie. Please. Look at me."

He hadn't expected to see tears in her eyes, two of them rolling down her cheek when she turned to face him.

"I- it's nothing. Just tired. Probably I should get some sleep before Franny comes home."

"You’re crying because I backed away", Quinn stated with a flat voice.

She just shrugged but didn't answer, but when he closed the distance between them and embraced her she didn't back away, and Quinn was relieved when he felt her arms coming around his waist after a long moment.

He closed his eyes and held her close, the weaker arm around her shoulder, the stronger hand at her nape, entangled in her hair, waiting for both of them to relax.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, not trusting his own voice.

"I know. And I didn't want to startle you."

"It's just-" but how was he even going to explain his ridiculous fears and reflexes?

Carrie detached but stayed close, her hand in the very same spot as before, a warm pressure now on his back, and looked up to him.

"We'll learn that, right? Being better at these things."

"That you touching me is no ambush?", he tried a weak smile.

"Among other things, yes."

He pulled her close again, resting his forehead against hers before his hand went slowly under her chin and tilted it upwards. His hand cupped her cheek when he covered her mouth with a gentle kiss.

"I’m trying, Carrie," Quinn said when he stopped for a short moment, "I am really trying."

"I know."

She came up tippy-toe and kissed him again, deepening the kiss when he kissed her back, her arms around his neck now, her slender body leaning into him.

Quinn wrapped one arm around her to hold her, enjoying to feel her responding to his touch with a soft sigh.

"I think I have a better idea than drinking tea," she whispered against his lips, her hands framing his face as she kissed him again and nibbled his lower lip, "come with me."

Carrie lead him down the hallway, to her bedroom, and when they stepped inside, she turned to him and moved her hands up to his shirt buttons, opening them one by one, kissing each inch of skin she revealed.

They undressed slowly, their hands and mouths mapping their bodies, taking their time to find each other again, gentle exploring, indulging in caressing each other.

It was not before they were both naked that Carrie took Quinn's hand and made him follow her to her bed, looking right into his eyes when she slowly sank back onto the mattress and the soft comforter, pulling him with her.

Albeit still early in the day the room was dim, it was a day with low and grey clouds, cold and dark.

Their love making was slow and tender, no words were spoken, and yet their eyes, hands and bodies told each other all they needed to be told.

Carrie was beneath him, between his elbows, sheltered by his larger body, he kept the pace slow, indolent even, enjoying to see her face getting a dreamy expression, her lips slightly parted, he felt her stiffening and then she let go, feeling a sweet wave of excitement and a sudden surge of love.

She took him with her, and afterwards they lay together, Carrie curled in his side, her hand lazily caressing his chest and arm.

He could see how tired she was, and when her movements got irregular first and then stopped, he knew she was drifting off to sleep.

"You’re staying here, right?", she mumbled when he thought she was already asleep, and so he rolled over, placed his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Right here."

He let her sleep for three hours, thinking she needed every minute of it.

At one point he drifted off too, just for about half an hour, and came back with a start, disoriented for a moment until the pleasant reality sank in.

_Carrie. Her room. Her bed. Not because of a seizure or flashback, but because of just being together._

She didn't stir when he carefully got up and slowly dressed himself again, fiddling for what seemed like ages with the small buttons.

He sat in the living room, sipping coffee and watching the snowflakes outside of the window until it was almost time to leave.

After placing a cup of tea on her nightstand, he placed his good hand on her naked shoulder, amazed that _this_ was their new reality now.

She woke up slowly and reluctantly, and watching Carrie curled up in bed, nestling herself against his hand as she slowly came back to reality, was a sight to behold.

"Hey. Time to wake up."

"Why?"

"It's almost two. Franny and Max will be here soon."

"True."

"No rush. Max texted that they're having a hot chocolate first at the small café next to her school."

"So I have time to get dressed."

She laughed when he arched his eyebrows and sat up, leaning her head against his shoulder then.

"Why are you already dressed? Aren't you staying?"

"No. I -," he shrugged his shoulders and she sat up to look at him, "there's that day clinic for outpatients. I did the entry evaluation on Friday. I have an appointment at three there. And then four days a week, six to eight hours. PT, OT, all that."

"So you'll be very busy."

"It's about time for that."

"So no more playground dates in the afternoon?"

"Sorry about that."

"That’s good Quinn. That you’ll go there. Don't be sorry."

"I'm sorry that I need to leave now."

Carrie gently touched his chin, making him lean in to meet her for a kiss.

"I'm good now, Quinn," she whispered between two kisses, "and I'll see you soon."

He handed her the cup of tea, and watched her sitting in bed with the mug, smiling at him when he raised and left the room, making his heart ache.

 

\--------------

The first time they went out together was a Thursday.

They had difficulties to find and settle with new routines. All those months they'd met in the afternoons, Carrie's day had been busy with her work at the foundation and then with her freelance work for Elizabeth, but she'd made time each and every afternoon for Franny - and him.

Now she wasn't working for the foundation any more but with Elizabeth, her days had no regular schedule but a lot of evening appointments, and she was preparing the move to Washington for late January.

And Quinn's schedule was busy too, many hours each week outpatient program, and his usual two appointments in the PTSD program.

And of course there was Franny.

So it was difficult to find time to be spend together. Their new dynamic still feeling wondrous and sometimes surprising, they both weren't good at making arrangements to have time together.

Sometimes she wanted to call him at night, wishing to hear his voice. But then she didn't because it felt too corny a thing to tell him.

She wondered why he never came to the playground anymore, most of the days she managed to carve these two hours out of her schedule, precious time to be spend with her daughter. She missed seeing him there.

One day he wondered if he could wait for her at her new office, ask her to have lunch with him during the one hour break he had between sessions. He even went there by cab, hoping to surprise her. But then he didn't make himself seen because he was wearing sweatpants and running shoes and saw her in a pant suit surrounded by six other advisors talking to her.

These weren't the precious days of their trip to the coast, which in hindsight felt like a treasured world, no other people or necessities, just the two of them.

This was real life during a stressful period of transition, both of them struggling, in a cold and dark winter which seemed to last forever.

Friday was his day without therapy, and the first Friday Carrie managed to keep her morning free of appointments and he met her at Franny's school.

They bought bagels and coffee and walked to her place then, spending the rest of the morning in bed.

The second Friday she was blocked with consultations with Elizabeth's foreign policy advisors all morning.

So Thursday morning Quinn waited for Max, thinking that it was a pathetic move but still-

"Real coffee and bagels?", Max asked, his eyebrows arched, "what's the price?"

"I need your help."

"Thought so."

He grabbed a bagel and was about to sink his teeth into it when Quinn interrupted him.

"First say you'll help."

"And if I say no you'll eat them both?"

Quinn just shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

"What do you need?", Max sighed.

"A babysitter."

"Pardon?"

"A babysitter. Someone to watch a movie with Franny."

"Nice definition of babysitter."

"C'mon."

Max took the bagel and had a huge bite, looking at Quinn with an amused grin on his face.

"So you want to take Carrie out. Or here."

"Max."

"Okay. Okay. So when?"

"Tonight? Just a few hours. Dinner."

"I'm doing this for Carrie, just so you know. Although the bagel's good."

 

He picked her up at her place, after sitting on the bench at the playground for about an hour, watching her coming home, watching Max arriving, lights behind her windows, normal life, wondering how he fit in there.

But when he walked over and rang the doorbell he tried to store the brooding thoughts away but allow himself to look forward to seeing her.

Carrie met him downstairs, her coat in her hand. She looked beautiful. He was speechless for a moment, smitten by the fact that she made the effort for him.

She was wearing a red woolen dress, he'd never seen this colour on her before. Her hair was down and he thought he'd forgotten how long it was, these days she mostly tied it back in a ponytail or a bun.

"Quinn?", Carrie tilted her head, looking at him, "you okay?"

"Yeah," he raised his hand to cup her cheek and bent down to kiss her, feeling a surge of warmth when she leant in and kissed him back, not just a short peck but a real kiss.

"Hi", she whispered against his lips, and then she detached, now smiling herself.

Her day had been long and eventful but she still remembered the surge of excitement she felt when Quinn had texted her.

So she'd managed to be home early and take half an hour to get ready for the evening, feeling like it was there first real date.

She'd seen him sitting down there near the playground, and had considered going down to join him, but now she was relieved she hadn't done so but had decided to give him some time.

"What do you want to do?," he asked when they detached.

"Don't know. I thought you made all the plans," she wanted to tease him but saw the insecurity in his eyes and hurried to go on, "but if I get to choose, I'd like that Indian place again."

"That? Nothing more _nice_?"

"This is where it all started, right?"

They walked slowly, she saw him having more difficulties than usual when going down the front stairs, and she considered suggesting to take a cab but managed to hold her tongue, thinking he should make that decision himself.

When they were outside she looped her arm through his, and he felt her fingers invading his coat pockets and slipping into his hand, and this was when he slowly relaxed, feeling her warm slender fingers interlacing with his fingers.

He had to concentrate on his movements, six hours of PT were taking its toll, and hadn't taken his evening meds yet, not wanting the dizziness and fatigue creeping in while they were together for the first time in a week.

It was embarrassing how slow he was. But Carrie adjusted her pace to his, and walking with her through the night made him feel much calmer than he'd felt all day.

They didn't talk much, she knew he needed his energy for walking but every now and then she squeezed his hand or brushed her thumb over his.

The owner at the restaurant showed a broad smile when they arrived, guiding them to the same table they'd sat the last time, hovering around them with the menus, tea, and offering drinks.

Carrie let Quinn choose, watching him placing the order and taking in the sight of him. He got a haircut earlier that week, and was wearing a blue shirt, she could only imagine how difficult these buttons had been for him to close, and thinking he did that for her made her heart beat elevate.

He looked at her that moment, catching her in her thoughts, seeing a faint smile lingering in the corners of her mouth.

"What is it?"

"I think I'm happy to see you."

She saw that he hadn't expected that answer, his face was so much more open and telling now than it had been before Berlin, and probably he hated the fact that she could read him so easily now, but it was a beautiful moment when she could see the surprise and then warmth in his eyes.

Carrie reached over the table for his hand, enjoying that she could do this now and he wouldn't push her away.

Their food arrived, and while eating they talked, mostly about Carrie's week.

It felt good to tell him, what she thought, ideas she had, things she wasn't sure about and for which she needed a sounding board.

As usual, Quinn listened, focused and patient, asking questions every now and then, a comment here and there, and Carrie felt a happiness spreading in her chest she felt difficult to contain.

They had tea and sticky pastry when she asked him to tell her about his week. 

"There's not much to tell."

"I want to hear it anyway."

"Carrie," he sighed, "what's there to tell about PT? My heartrate? My blood pressure?"

He regretted his harshness instantly, but seriously, what was there to tell? But Carrie's eyes, which had been bright and happy all evening, turned somber and she looked away, fiddling with her purse.

"I'll pay."

"Sure Quinn. Of course", but there was a quiver in her voice.

She went to the restroom while he paid, and when he got up he realized he wouldn't be able to walk all the way back, his leg was hurting too much.

So he asked the owner to call a cab, cursing his current state in his mind.

Carrie took her coat from his hands when he wanted to offer it to her and that was when he knew he'd royally fucked it up. 

She stepped outside, and he told the waitress to cancel the cab, hoping he could mend things with Carrie before they arrived at her house.

"Carrie," he had difficulties to catch up with her but she waited at the corner, turning to look at him.

"Can we sit for a moment?", he indicated into the direction of the small park, more or less just a square of green with a single bench, on the other side of the road.

"I-," he tried to start but she cut him off.

"Quinn, this hurts. I thought- after all that happened til now...," her voice trailed off but then she tried again, "I don't want to just deliver my news of the week, and that's it."

"Yours are much more compelling than mine."

"You think that matters? You think you can't let me decide that?"

"You know most of it anyway."

"No, I don't. I don't know how you _are_. What you do. You don't tell me."

Quinn didn't answer. What was there to say? She'd been incredibly busy for the two weeks since their trip to the sea, and why would she-

"Quinn. It matters to me. I want to hear about your week. I've been shitty at telling you. I know. I'm sorry. It's just a lot right now. And you didn't seem too eager to see me so-"

"What? What makes you say that?"

"I didn't see you all week."

"You were busy."

"I know. I was hoping-"

"What?"

"Forget about it. It doesn't matter."

"No. Tell me."

"We never had a scheduled date for the afternoons. You just were there. Each and every afternoon. And now you stopped doing that," she said quietly.

"You really want to know why I stopped that?", Quinn said with a flat voice, "Because I can't, Carrie. I finish at the clinic at around four pm. My legs are a shaking mess then. So I take a cab home and sleep an hour or two. That's what I'm doing then."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's not a great thing to tell."

"You think I don't care?"

Quinn sighed.

"No. Not that. But-," he was searching for words, "it's tough Carrie. Many days are still tough. And sharing that would be tough too."

"And I never asked. Before tonight I didn't."

He just shrugged, not eager to deepen the topic.

"Quinn? I'm sorry. I - I should have asked sooner."

"Honestly, I prefer you not asking," but there was a small smile apparent in his voice.

"When you asked me out for tonight you made me really happy. This morning, your message made me happy," Carrie whispered, her hand searching his, "because I was beginning to miss you."

"Is that so?", amusement and a hint of what might be relief in his voice.

"Yes."

She kissed him, her hands framing his face, and he pulled her closer with his better arm, slowly caressing her cheek with his thumb.

Carrie's head came to rest on his shoulder when they broke apart, Quinn's arm still around her shoulder, and he slightly bent his head to kiss her temple.

They left soon after, and Carrie didn't comment on the fact that she ordered a Uber without asking, neither did Quinn, his trembling left hand buried in his coat pocket.

His struggles were obvious when they walked upstairs but Carrie knew that it would be hopeless to suggest for her to go alone, he'd never let that happen again, not after what Reza had done Thanksgiving.

He kissed her good night outside of her apartment, in the hallway, and she knew better than asking him to spend the night. So she decided to give their evening a happy ending, indulging in another kiss and then one more before she let him go.  
\------------------

The first time Carrie came to see him during his lunch break was the next Monday.

Quinn had just finished the sandwich he'd bought, sitting in the cafeteria with the orange chairs in the basement of his therapy clinic.

And there she was, carrying two Starbucks paper cups, wearing a light blue scarf and a thick winter coat.

She saw him and smiled while approaching his table, placing one of the cups in front of him, and then she took the chair opposite to him.

Some of the patients, mostly veterans like him, looked at her, outside visitors were a rare occurrence, but soon everyone was busy again with their own affairs.

She didn't comment on the fact that she had to drive twenty minutes one way to come here, or that she had to reschedule half of her day to carve this hour out of her schedule.

But it was good to see her face light up when he reached over the table to take her hand.

And after that, she came once or twice a week, always bringing real coffee instead of the brown water the cafeteria tried to pass off as coffee.

\---------------

The first time Quinn spent a night at her place was the Saturday before Christmas.

Carrie and Frannie would leave New York the next morning, and Quinn had no real plan yet.

Carrie had invited him to spend Christmas with her and her family but he wasn't ready for that. 

She understood, and yet he thought she was sad about his choice.

They had dinner with Franny, then Carrie put the little girl to bed, and would be back soon.

Quinn had been here the day before, a few hours just for the two of them on Friday morning, his only morning without any appointments.

She couldn't keep that morning free every week but yesterday they had shared three precious hours together before Carrie had hurried downtown to see Elizabeth and one of her lawyers for lunch.

Mornings were better than evenings and usually he left after dinner when he was at her place. But it was her last night in New York for ten days, and seeing her face yesterday morning when he'd casually suggested to stay here tonight had been a beautiful moment.

After breakfast they'd spent most of the morning in bed, making love and talking, about nothing significant, just enjoying their time together. 

He'd ask her if he could come over for dinner tonight when she'd been curled in his arms after their love making, sleepily brushing her thumb over his collarbone every now and then.

"I'd like that", had been her mumbled answer.

"I thought I could stay a few hours longer then."

She'd raised her head, her eyes shining bright and her mouth had curled into a beautiful smile before she'd leant in again to kiss him once more.

And now he sat in her living room, waiting for her to come back.

He heard the water gurgling, Franny was having a bath. She laughed and giggled, and Carrie laughed too, and a while later he heard Franny running to her room, her feet making _  
thud thud thud_ on the wooden floor.

She peaked through the door once more a few minutes later, her curls tamed into two braids, _Good night Quinn_ , and after a few more giggles he only heard Carrie's voice reading a story.

It was almost thirty five years since he'd witnessed such a calm and serene evening routine the last time, and he felt an odd sense of sadness - and peace.

 

Carrie came back a few minutes later, finding him standing by the window and looking outside into the night.

Afraid to startle him again, she said "I'm back" before winding her arms around his waist to embrace him from behind, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.

It felt good to be able to that, to enjoy his proximity, to breathe in his scent, and to feel his heartbeat against her cheek while his hand came up to cover hers.

They stood like this for a while, and Carrie thought about all the things which had happened this year. And what a miracle it was that so many bad and horrible things finally led to this outcome - Quinn and she, in her living room, her sleeping child down the hallway, and that he would probably stay the night and share the morning with her and Franny.

"I'm happy, Quinn," she said quietly, as if she was amazed by it herself, and afraid it might vanish as soon as she said it out loud.

Letting go of her hands, Quinn turned in Carrie's embrace towards her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders now, enjoying the feeling of her slender form pressed against his body.

"That's good," he replied, his mouth finding hers for a kiss, the first today except a brief peck when he'd arrived, since Franny had been around them ever since.

Carrie had felt a pang of excitement whenever she'd thought about him throughout her day, remembering their Friday morning, and feeling his hands slowly caressing her back now, their kiss deepening as she parted her lips for him, made her crave for more.

Wrestling with his shirttails for a brief moment, she let her hands slip beneath his clothes, feeling smooth skin over his firm abdomen, and moved her hands up his sides, pleased when she felt Quinn's hand cupping one of her buttocks with firm pressure.

Their lovemaking, the few times they'd been together during the last month, had been slow and tender, they were still in a state of a silent awe that this was their new reality now, out in the open and true, carefully exploring the other's reactions and preferences.

This night felt different. 

She knew he felt the same when he broke the kiss and let his mouth wander, down her cheek and jawline, butterfly kisses, and then the sensitive skin of her neck, slow and tender first but then, when she sighed and tilted her head to give him better access, his breathing got faster and he gently nipped the delicate skin there, making her shiver.

"You like that?", he whispered, doing it again while using his hand around her ass to press her firmly against him.

He took a step backwards, taking Carrie with him, sending a shiver down her spine when started kneading her ass.

With a swift movement he'd turned her and made them fall onto the couch. He supported his own weight with his elbows,his hips pressed against hers, his mouth and hands eagerly traveling south, fiddling with her buttons, she raised her hands to assist him, eager to feel him on the skin being revealed under her shirt.

Quinn paused when her shirt was open which allowed him to see the dark blue lace of her bra covering her breasts, admiration reflecting in his eyes.

"You're so beautiful, Carrie," he said, his voice thick with emotion and desire, before he bent down to graze his teeth over the thin fabric covering nipple, making Carrie arch her back and longing for more friction.

His hand slid up her side, following the delicate curve of her ribcage, making contact to the side of her other breast, covering it with his palm, warm and promising, and then he started kneading it with firm pressure, just what she wanted now and yet not enough.

She felt him hard against her thigh, and tried to wiggle closer, but he breathed a laugh.

“I can wait, Carrie. Let's see how patient you will be.”

Soon, her pants were gone, his hands roaming over her body, indulging in feeling of her silky skin beneath his palms, massaging her breasts, teasing her through the thin lace with his thumb and mouth, sucking the soft skin just above her clavicle with his leg between hers.

Carrie guided his hand between her breasts where he found a small metallic clasp, easily to open with one hand, and he held his breath when he eased his hand into the cup, feeling her hard nipple under the tips of his fingers before he flapped the cups open for full access.

Taking one of her nipples into his mouth, he started gently sucking it, increasing the intensity when Carrie’s breathing got faster, his hand back to firmly kneading her other breast, his thumb brushing over that bud, and then again when she shivered the moment he did it.

His hand traveled south, circling around her navel, his mouth still doing extraordinary things with her nipple, and then she felt his hand slipping into her underwear, a welcome invasion making her tremble, and when his finger slowly travelled along her slit, a tantalizing and promising wave of desire washed over her and she arched her hips to meet him, longing for more friction.

“Quinn,” she whispered, a quiet moan when he moved two fingers deeper, left and right of her clit, leaving her breathless.

He started moving his fingers in firm circles without further warning, sending Carrie into a frenzy right away.

“Oh God, Quinn. Please. Like this. Faster. Harder. Please,” she mumbled, having difficulties forming her words.

Quinn’s fingers moved faster, his mouth still around her nipple.

But then he stilled, his index and middle finger still firmly pressed on exactly the right spot for a second longer before he took that away from her.

Carrie moaned, if from lust or frustration - he could only guess, but when he moved down, between her legs, and tried to remove her underwear, she raised her hips, helping him to get rid of the tiny piece of laced fabric.

His hands went around her slender hips, he could hold her and encircle her and move her just the way he wanted to have her, and that thought was arousing beyond words. Cupping her buttocks by slowly moving his hands deeper, he canted her hips towards him, she was pliant under his touch, and then he leant in, letting his tongue slowly travel along her slit.

He found the delicate skin around her entrance, soft and wet, and entered her with his tongue, plunging in as deep as he could and enjoying the hot whimpers Carrie made, holding her hips in place with his hands.

He moved in and out of her, licking her wetness, fucking her with his tongue, feeling her starting her inevitable ascent when his mouth found her clit, several laps with his tongue, slow and irregular first, then more rapid and with firmer pressure, Carrie’s moans and her taste making him crave for her and for seeing and feeling her coming apart.

She came with a short scream, gasping his name, when he licked her clit, Carrie’s hand in his hair, holding him exactly where she wanted him.

“Don't stop yet, please, don't stop,” she sighed, her climax ringing through her body, opening her legs further for him, shivering when he kept pleasing her with his tongue and introduced a long finger and then a second one to extend the apex of her pleasure.

He stayed with her, guiding her through her descent, feeling her body shivering whenever he moved, much more gentle now, Carrie soft moans telling him how much she enjoyed this.

When he finally withdrew his hand and came up to lie next to her, she looked at him, her eyes still hazy, a dreamy smile curling her lips.

“Hi,” she whispered, her head coming to rest in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “why are you still dressed? Your shirt is crumpled now.”

Her hand sneaked between their bodies, starting to palm him firmly through his pants, her other hand deftly undoing his belt and buttons, making room for her to slip in, the cotton of his briefs the only remaining barrier between her hand and his cock.

Half sitting up, he pulled the shirt impatiently over his head, gasping when she let her hand slide under the waistband of his briefs.

Encircling him, she leant in, her breasts pressed against his chest, nibbling his earlobe, teeth grating along the shell of his ears sending a jolt down his spine.

“I want you,” she breathed, “Do you want to fuck me, Quinn? Because I want you to fuck me.”

“Carrie,” he sighed, as she helped him to move down his pants with one hand, her other hand working his shaft with slow strokes, gliding between his legs, massaging his balls, the tips of her fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin beneath them, coming back to the head, firm pressure and rhythmical movements sending him into a state of profound yearning.

“I want to fuck you and keep you and make you mine,” his voice was hoarse when he pulled close to kiss her, his hand at the back of her neck, his tongue invading her mouth, their kiss urgent and passionate, his hips surging to meet her strokes.

“That's good”, Carrie purred, kissing him open mouthed while climbing into his lap, the friction of her hand replaced by the tantalizing gentle rubs of her wet pussy against his length, “because I want you, Quinn.”

God bless his resourceful woman, Quinn thought when Carrie reached for a small chest on the bookshelf behind the couch, gorgeous friction while she bent forward, and fished a condom out of it, tearing the small envelope open and rolling it down on him. 

Using his hand to support her neck, Quinn flipped her on her back, he himself poised over her now. His hand went down to her knee and bent it upwards and Carrie took the cue and raised her other leg as well, both her bent legs pressed between their bodies when Quinn supported himself at her entrance and slowly entered her, his hands around her hips, pulling her towards him as he pushed deeper.

He was in control and Carrie loved it, the loss of autonomy, and the expression of desire in his eyes. That - and love and admiration.

Quinn thrusted into her, faster and harder now, his hands holding her ass, fingers pressed into her buttocks, using his grip to pull her towards him each time he drove into her, losing himself in the escalating pleasure, each stroke bringing him closer to oblivion.

“Raise your legs,” he demanded, his voice husky, supporting one of her ankles to come up over his shoulder, allowing him to drive deeper and to bend down to Carrie, sucking her nipple while fucking her with long strokes.

He felt his orgasm building up, a knot at the base of his spine, Carrie’s body completely at his mercy, her moans making him push faster, she stifled her own cry with her hand, her skin tasted sweet and salty, and when she came, she took him with her, a violent pleasure tearing through his body while he was pumping his release into her, his vision fading to black when he collapsed onto her, holding her, losing himself in long moments of bliss.

“Oh my God,” Carrie whispered, her voice trembling and then nothing else.

Through his daze, Quinn felt Carrie wiggling and then lowering her legs, and then he lay molded into her, her arms wrapped around his shoulders now, both of them breathing heavily.

“Thank me for years of yoga practice,” Carrie smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth when their breathing calmed down again, her hands trailing along his spine, coming to rest just above his ass as he huffed a laugh, which was all he was capable of right now.

“Quinn? You okay?”

“‘Tis not the word. But yeah.”

This made her laugh, he felt the vibrations against his chest and a last pleasurable jolt ebbing off when giving her a last gentle nudge.

Reaching between them to secure the condom, he raised his head to place a lingering kiss on her lips as he reluctantly pulled out of her, shifted his weight to the side and came to rest next to her, the lengths of his body now supported by the back of the sofa, Carrie curled in his arm.

This was how they lay for a long while, enjoying their afterglow, Carrie’s head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, calm and steady now, the warmth radiating from his body keeping her warm.

It was near midnight when Carrie languorously stretched, laughing when her shoulder joints cracked, and suggested to go to bed.

There was no way to hide his end of day weaknesses from her, his limping being so obvious now, especially after the evening’s events, and for once he didn't even try, accepting her hand for better balance when he had to get up and wrapping his arm around her petite frame to support himself on their way down the hallway.

“I’ll need a minute longer,” he said quietly after he popped his pills and stepped under the spray of the shower with her, and Carrie understood.

After she was gone, he leant back against the wall of the shower, letting the warm spray wash over him, waiting for the warmth to settle into the pain, easing it the way it usually did while his meds were working their way into his system.

Carrie was in bed when he finally followed her, the small lamp on her nightstand casting a warm glow, and she smiled when she saw him.

He sank into the pillows with a groan, looking at her fondly and with a weak grin.

“It was worth it, believe me.”

“Oh I know,” she smiled, leaning in to kiss him, “I’ll probably be sore and a little tender tomorrow and it was worth it too.”

She kissed him again, snuggled herself into his side, and sought his hand with hers, just before she drifted off.

It was five when Quinn woke up again, the usual dream making him bolt upright and fighting for air.

_I’m safe. This is not happening now. Carrie’s room. Carrie. No fucking gas chamber. No gas. No Bibi. Just me and Carrie. I’m alive. She's safe._

“It's okay,” Carrie was stirring now, her hand reaching out for him, “you’re here with me.”

Quinn squeezed her hand, holding it for a second longer.

“It's nothing. I’m good.”

He placed a kiss on her temple, whispered “Go back to sleep, I’m okay” and clumsily climbed out of bed, relieved when he saw her curling up in the warm spot he’d just vacated.

He settled in the living room with a steaming mug with coffee, shaking his head in amused disbelief when he collected the cushions from the floor and discarded the condom and its wrapper.

Sitting there for an hour or longer, he tried not to contemplate or question what the next days would bring, but just to stay here, in that moment, to allow himself to feel good about the last hours.

The little girl peaked around the corner just after six, probably she saw the lights being switched on when she was on her way to Carrie’s room.

“Mommy said you maybe stay overnight. Why are you not sleeping?”

“I’m an early riser. And you?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Uhm. So-”

“There's müsli in the cabinet over the sink. I’ll get the milk. Can you make hot cocoa?”

“I can try.”

“It's easy. You have to whisk it so there are no lumps.”

“Okay.”

They sat at the table, Franny munching away her musli and sipping her hot cocoa, talking about the upcoming holidays and her excitement - and Quinn found himself fighting his instinct to just get up and leave, or at least to wake up Carrie, but instead to just sit and let her talk. 

And it worked. Franny did the talking, and he just sat, sipping his coffee, listening, a brief answer every now and then, until he suddenly saw Carrie standing in the door jamb, still in her robe, smiling with moist eyes when their eyes met.

 

 

\-------------------------------

The first time he went back to the coast was Christmas. With Max and Carrie being gone for the holidays and his therapy facility being closed til after New Year, Quinn saw no need to stay in New York. And being alone in New York for four days wasn't maybe the best idea anyway.

So he left on the first bus the morning before Christmas, a sleeping bag he had bought the night before completing his light luggage.

He arrived before noon, allowing him to go to the village and buy some food and arrange some firewood to be delivered in the afternoon.

He’d probably need some furniture at some point but he'd slept in much worse places, and here he had a sleeping bag and a fire to keep the room warm.

 

The first night brought one of the most horrible flashbacks in a long time, leaving him curled up on the floor, gasping for air, reliving every moment of the ambush in Fallujah again, and then when that was gone, bringing him back to the bottom of the chamber, the pain tearing him apart.

There was no way to go back to sleep, he was a mess when he finally snapped out of it, covered with sweat, shaking, his face wet from tears, his body hurting, his lungs rattling.

So he took the woolen hoodie, slipped inside, and made his way outside to the small veranda facing the beach, where he collapsed in an old wooden chair.

Focusing on his breathing, trying to turn his mind away from the vivid images in his head, towards his surroundings.

The air was cold and humid, iodine and salt in the sea breeze, the night was still pitch black, no moon, but stars, so many stars, dawn still many hours away.

His mind went back to another night, dark and with many stars. _Winter in Hindukusch. Trying to bring his guys home. Failing. Losing two of them._

_And many years later. Syria. The last time. A few weeks before going back to the states. Trying to get Caesar out of the country. Losing good guys to save that one person and his evidence. Does a life equal a life? Justifies saving evidence of the cruel death of thousands killing others?_

It had been many years since he had stopped pondering these questions.

_Cause what is the point? There is no answer._

But it all came back now, and he’d learnt to let it happen, to go through these memories and to allow himself to re-evaluate.

It was like his brain was no longer able to compartmentalize, all those walls he’d built to contain all of this - it just didn't work anymore.

So he tried to control the flow of memories, tried not to get lost in these pondering thoughts, tried to breathe through the panic rising in his chest, trying to administer the techniques he’d learned.

A milky winter sun rose, weak rays cutting through the fog over the waves, not strong enough to give warmth, but superseding the darkness.

Quinn went inside again after a few hours, crashing in his sleeping bag after downing a handful of his pills, his last thought that he should call Carrie to wish her a merry Christmas.

Next time he woke up, it was dark and his phone was dead, probably the battery had run out of power. He tried to plug it in but of course the long abandoned house had no electricity. So he had to postpone that call, all cafés and pubs where he could get some power while eating were closed now anyway. 

He had one of the sandwiches he bought the day before, thinking about Carrie during his meal, hoping she had a good time with her family.

And finally allowing himself to remember the other Christmas he’d spent here. The last one. When he’d gotten a bike. And Fiona a doll house. A christmas tree, over in that corner near the window box. Mass in the small church near the lighthouse. His dad and his grandpa going out with the _Latis_ , coming back with a surge of cold air, the smell of tobacco and a chimney fire, laughter, falling asleep on the couch.

He wouldn't be able to sleep now, after sleeping almost all day, so he went for a walk. He walked along the beach, passing the hotel he and Carrie had stayed at, the lighthouse to his left, and then towards the harbour. He sat on the bench next to the shop, now closed, and watched the lights of the trawlers dancing on the sea, and then coming back in in the early hours of the morning.

When the shop opened, he went inside and ordered coffee and a sandwich, and asked if he was allowed to plug in his phone for a few minutes.

Seventeen missed calls. Many from Carrie. Two from Max.

He waited until the day rose before he called Carrie, who answered the phone after the second ring.

“Damn it Quinn, where are you?”

“The house. At the sea. Near the harbour now.”

“Since when?”

“Carrie. What is this?”

“Nothing.”

He fell silent and so did she.

“You still there?”, he tried after a moment, knowing he fucked it up.

“I am. Yeah.”

“My battery died. No electricity.”

“Yeah.”

“I should've called you. Earlier.”

“Yes. No. I mean, you can do what you want. And I-”

“Carrie,” he interrupted her, “I’m sorry. This is,” he paused, searching for the right word, “new. I- don't know, how was Christmas.”

 _Worried_ , Carrie thought, but didn't say it, suddenly feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

“Fuck Quinn, I was just about to drive to New York to look for you.”

He hadn't expected that. Not at all. And he had no idea how this made him feel.

“Wanna come here instead?”, he found himself saying, and then hurried to add “you and Franny. For the day?”

“Sure. I’ll see you in two hours. At the house?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

\------------------------------

The first time Carrie visited him near the ocean was that day. It took her more than three hours to get there, and he was beginning to worry she had reconsidered and wouldn't come.

She came alone, said that Franny wasn't ready to leave her presents and cousins behind for the day.

He could see that she was still _not okay_ when she climbed out of the car, her shoulders tense, her brow furrowed. 

But when he stepped closer to meet her halfway she tilted her head and lifted her hand, handing him a little box with a half smile.

“Merry Christmas, Quinn. Don't worry, it's not a real present. More self interest than a gift actually.”

It was a portable pre-charged battery for his phone, chargeable both by electricity as well as a solar power grid.

_You are fucking amazing, Carrie._

“I take it that you still want to call me,” she aimed for a light tone, but he knew it was more than that, “cause otherwise I might be -”

“Hey.”

He closed the distance between them, nudged his index finger lightly under her chin, making her tilt her head upwards, and closed her lips with a soft kiss, cupping her cheek with his hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Carrie detached and turned away from him, facing the beach now.

“Carrie,” he reached out for her again, “I know I fucked it up. I didn't mean to. It's just-”

“I know Quinn,” her voice sounded angry now, and when she spun back to face him he saw her biting back tears, “it's just that I’m afraid you’re lying in a puddle of mud or worse when I can't get through to you. So don't do that again. It was Christmas for fuck’s sake and all I wanted was to know you were okay. That can't be too much to ask for, right? Damn it.”

She tried to push him away when he pulled her close, but after a moment she gave in, leant in, didn't press her fists against his chest anymore but relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair, holding her in a tight embrace, feeling a little overwhelmed by her sorrow.

“It's okay now,” she pulled back and tried to smile, “it's just a very bad memory, you and a disconnected phone-,” her voice trailed off.

There was nothing to add. They both carried their demons, he knew that. So he unpacked the battery and plugged it into his phone, and stuffed both items in his pocket then.

“Won't happen again. You have time? A walk?”

They spent the day at the beach, took a long walk, often silent, but their hands entwined, enjoying their time together, had a late lunch and coffee near the harbour and came back to his house when it was dark already.

“You’re leaving now?”, Quinn asked her when they reached her car.

“Actually,” Carrie stopped and turned to face him, “I was thinking I could stay until tomorrow. If you want that.”

“There is no furniture. No mattress. No warm water. No electricity,” he tried a weak joke, wondering why a simple _yes_ was so hard to say.

“Actually,” she was mimicking his tone, trying to take the edges off, “I came prepared. If I’d wanted a comfy mattress I’d have booked a hotel. But I’ve slept in worse ditches, and I brought an air mattress.”

“You did what?”, he sounded genuinely incredulous.

“An air mattress. For your precious bones. And for mine. If you don't like it, well, feel free to stay on the floor.”

He didn't sleep on the floor, and neither did she. She took a moment to take in the empty and almost dark room when they entered the house and Quinn lit a small battery run camping lamp, his sleeping bag neatly folded away in one corner, a stack of firewood in the other corner, some food on the shelf in the kitchen.

_Never wanting anything for himself. Ready to leave any second, without any personal trace._

Suddenly she felt a strange melancholy again and shivered, noticing how cold the room was.

But Quinn was already busy setting up a fire, and so she went outside again to set up the mattress by plugging the little pump into her car’s cigarette lighter. It unfolded within less than a minute and was much bigger than she’d expected.

It needed a bit of wrangling and squeezing to get it back through the small door and she found Quinn standing in the door jamb on the other side, looking amused.

“That's your air mattress?”

“It's an air _bed_. I’m sure both of us have slept in worse places.”

“Definitely. So place your air _bed_ here, it’ll be warmer soon.”

“I don't have a blanket though,” Carrie said with a light tone, placing the mattress with a kick near the fireplace.

“I’m willing to share,” Quinn’s voice was low, just above her ear, he’d stepped closer, she felt him placing his arm around her waist and leant her head back against his collarbone, “it’ll be warmer anyway.”

“Is that so?”, Carrie asked, the kiss on her neck, just below her ear, making her feel a pleasant shiver.

“You’ll see,” Quinn replied, his voice low and quiet, and then he gently nipped the delicate skin on her neck, his hand splayed on her abdomen, covering almost all of it.

When they undressed each other it was slow and tender, no rush, they both had to laugh when they fell back onto the mattress which wobbled.

“That's gonna be _interesting_ ”, Quinn huffed, pulling Carrie on top of him, skin contact over the whole length of their bodies, holding her in a tight embrace while their kiss deepened.

Carrie stayed there, on top of his body, when he slowly entered her, their bodies joining for a slow dance. His hands braced her hips, his thumbs reaching her center and adding to her pleasure with the slow circles he made, massaging her hood, soft and slow movements.

Watching Carrie arching her back, writhing from pleasure, swiveling her hips while she moved herself up and down on him made Quinn feel a mind shattering orgasm building up, each of Carrie’s movements bringing him closer and closer. They didn’t move faster, he controlled her pace with his hands, and after grazing with his thumb over her wetness, right next to where he drove in and out of her, he started circling her clit with his wet thumb now, still slow.

He felt her climax shuddering through her body, his thumb rubbing her clit now, and felt Carrie clenching around him, making a high-pitched sound, almost a soft scream. 

He was there too then, watching her moving her body down on him, her eyes locked with his now, her hands on his chest, and when she bent down to kiss him he felt his orgasm taking him.

Carrie collapsed on his chest, the sudden movement made the mattress sway and wobble beneath them, causing a surge of pleasure for both of them and making Carrie laugh.

He marveled the sound, the sensation of Carrie’s slender body on his chest, still inside her, gently moving his hips once more.

“I was planning on buying a bed but I might reconsider,” Quinn deadpanned, his hands resting on her back now.

“We can keep this one for special occasions,” Carrie laughed, rolling off his body as he pulled out of her, “it wasn't too bad.”

“It wasn't,” Quinn shifted, trying to rest his hurting leg more comfortably, “and _special occasions_ sounds good.”

Carrie got up once to get his sleeping bag, spread it as a blanket over both of them and snuggled back into his arm as soon as she crawled back on the mattress.

After a while, Carrie rolled on her tummy, facing Quinn now, the warm light of the fire reflected in her eyes, giving her skin a warm glow.

“I found a place near my sister's house.”

“Good. When will you move?”

“End of January.”

Quinn reached for a strand of her hair which curled on her shoulder and twisted it around his finger.

“I thought,” he paused for a beat, organizing his thoughts, “about staying in New York for a while. Doing my PT and stuff there.”

“That's probably a good idea.”

“And buying some furniture for here”, he went on, his face showing a half smile.

“You feel good here?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “and least better than elsewhere.”

“So, weekends here? That's what you want to do?”

Quinn nodded, adjusting his arm around her shoulder when she lay down next to him again, her cheek on his chest now.

“It's a place to start. I- I think I feel better here.”

“That's something.”

“Would you,” Quinn cleaned his throat and then went on after a beat, “would you come here, sometimes?”

“Hey Quinn, is that an invitation?”, Carrie kept the tone light.

“I think so. Yes.”

“If you invest in a coffee machine I might consider it.”

“If that's what would keep you away, I’ll get one.”

That night, Quinn dreamt the dream about his grandfather and the _Latis_ again, and when he woke up he found Carrie still sleeping next to him, her hand on his chest, her hair covering her face.

\------------------------

The first time Carrie stayed for longer than just one night was late in January.

They hadn’t seen each other for ten days, Carrie had moved to Washington the week before and Franny had been sick with a cold, so it had been a stressful week for Carrie.

The first weekend in Washington she’d spent alone with Franny, and then the first week at the White House had been full with meetings, scheduled events and unscheduled ones, and he knew she loved it.

But today she’d come, with Franny, staying for two nights until Sunday.

They arrived at six, and Franny climbed out of the car, curious to see where they were going to stay.

Quinn lead her inside, pointing her to the stairs, telling her to take the second door, while Carrie got their bag from the trunk.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs. Checking everything out,” he answered while Carrie stepped closer and then kissed him hello.

“Mommy. Mommy. Have a look. It’s a boat. Mommy.”

“What did you do?”, Carrie scrutinized him, but her tone was teasing, and then she went inside, Quinn following her.

“Yeah, sweetie, I see that,” he heard Carrie saying when he came upstairs, “yes, I think it was a real boat.”

He entered the room, finding Franny jumping excitedly on her new bed.

“A boat. A real boat. Is it mine?”

“You see any other kid here?”, Quinn smiled, “Yes, it's yours.”

He’d bought the old wooden dinghy three weeks ago, had sanded and repainted it, and put a slatted frame into it after sawing and goring it into the exact form. A mattress and a few pillows completed the set up, and he was glad Franny seemed to like it.

It had taken him many days to get things done, but it had been more or less possible. He was slower, some tasks needed a lot of time and some improvisation, but in the end, he’d been able to do it all.

“Mommy, look. If I take the cushions away, I can hide down there.”

“A pirate’s treasure chamber,” Carrie reassured her daughter.

“I’ll go get my toys, Mommy, yes? I want to put them in here.”

“Your bag is downstairs, honey.”

Franny weaseled away and Carrie turned to Quinn, finding him leaning in the door jamb. He was surprised when her eyes had a telltale glitter but she smiled when she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his woolen sweater.

“Thank you”, he more felt her saying it than actually hearing it.

Spending a weekend together with Franny was different than their usual evenings together. She got up early, needed regular meals and snacks, took a lot of Carrie’s attention, got cranky when they went for a walk down the beach so they went back after half an hour, and they played a hell lot of boardgames. 

There were moments when he wondered whether Carrie would mind if he left for a while, but then he stayed.

And there were moments which were good.

Sunday morning he woke up late, remembering that Carrie had whispered “Go back to sleep, it's early” when she had slipped out of bed.

And surprisingly enough, he’d dozed off again, a pleasant memory of their nightly love making guiding him back to sound sleep.

He’d done the HIV test earlier that week, and the result had been good, and when he’d told her last night she’d taken the box of condoms from her handbag and had discarded it into the bin in the bathroom.

Recalling what she’d done then, her mouth on his body, going down on him, wet and tight and so good, good God...

When he woke up again, it was a bright winter day, and the house was silent, but after he got up he saw Carrie and Franny down by the beach, building sand castles.

So he got ready, brewed coffee and filled it in a thermos, and took the coffee, a small juice box with apple juice and two mugs with him.

Sharing the coffee, they sat at the beach watching the little girl building and playing with her castle, decorating it with shells and pebble.

Carrie leant against his shoulder, kissed his stubble, and he was glad he hadn't escaped the afternoon before, because now - it was good, very good.

They’d leave in the afternoon, Carrie would drop him at the bus station, and then they'd meet in Washington next weekend.

But now, watching her daughter playing at the beach, Carrie changed her plans.

“What would you think about coming here next weekend again?”

\----------------------------

The last time he went to the day clinic was a sunny day in May.

It wasn't a huge surprise. He’d noticed that his progress slowed down a few weeks ago. First he’d thought he’d reached a plateau and had tried to work through it, stoically and relentlessly. It had happened before, and probably would happen again.

But it wasn't a plateau. It was the end of that particular journey. It wouldn't get better anymore. This was as good as it would get. Or in other words: He would never get better than he was right now.

End of day fatigue and cramps, the limp, the weakness of his left hand, all that would stay, constant PT exercises would help to manage the pain level and muscle tension, as well as they would prevent his sinews from shortening and causing more pain as a consequence.

For whatever reasons they’d chosen this particular Tuesday to tell him, not in the morning, not at the end of his day program, but right before his midday break. It was a short consultation because what was there to add. He was welcome to keep using the facilities - and pay for it - but it was about maintaining not improving, so no new therapy plan, no further improvement, but the advice to keep doing his exercised to not get worse again.

_Never._

It didn't sink in right away. He’d already known in a way. But still. Coming here, he’d been working _towards_ getting better, a goal, a real achievement. And now? This was it. He wouldn't get any better.

He stepped out of the clinic, noticing he had a tote bag in his right hand, apparently he’d cleaned out his locker and packed, he was still in his track pants and shirt, and then, just fucking then a car with darkened windows pulled up and Carrie got out, giving the secret service men who made an attempt to get out with her a nod to stay inside. 

Quinn heard her telling the driver that she’d call, and then she crossed the street to the Starbucks, she hadn't seen him, and he watched her determined long strides, he could leave now, but he didn't, and then she came back, fucking beautiful in her dark blue dress and matching jacket, her hair in a loose updo he’d never seen before, balancing two cups of coffee.

“What are you doing here?”

“Quinn,” she was surprised, startled even when he approached her from behind, but then she turned and smiled, and his heart ached, “Elizabeth came here for a meeting, last minute, and I could move some meetings to jump her plane, so I thought I’d surprise you. Coffee? Aren't you going back in? I expected to find you in the cafeteria. But you're right,” she went on without giving him a second to answer, “it's much nicer outside.”

She leant upwards and kissed his cheek, this was the utmost declaration of affection he’d get from her in public, the beach walks during their weekends being the only exception.

They sat down on two of the chairs outside of the coffee shop, Carrie looking at him intently while she sipped her coffee.

Her phone rang before she could say anything, and Quinn was glad as it spared him from any answer.

She talked in brief, measured sentences, disconnected the call, dialled another number, just a few brief sentences and then she put her phone away and turned her attention back to him.

“You’re quiet today. I’d expected a little more enthusiasm. Maybe a _nice to see you_ even.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Gotta go back inside. I’m already late.”

He took another sip of his coffee, seeing the hurt look on her face, got up, briefly kissed her cheek and turned with a curt _bye_ , knowing it wouldn't end well.

“Nice”, her tone had a sharp edge, but he heard the hurt undertone, “so that's why I took all the hassle to come here and make room for _this_ and-”

“Carrie, I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

He left, a throbbing headache building up behind his eyes, overwhelmed, with an urgent need to just be anywhere else.

Re-entering the building he’d just left about fifteen minutes ago he turned right, towards the bathrooms, looking out of one of the windows towards the street, and of course she still sat there, her hand covering half of her face, and he hoped she wasn't crying.

He left via the fire escape, his mind being a single track towards getting away from here.

Her text arrived when he was about a block away.

_What the fuck?_

And then a while later _Quinn?_

And then - nothing.

Not on Tuesday night. Not on Wednesday. 

He wasn't in a good place. Max hadn’t been home on Tuesday which was good. So there had been no need to go somewhere to get shitfaced, he could stay home and drink there.

It was a fucking cliché, and maybe that was progress, that he _knew_ he was being pathetic and ridiculous rather than just being a fucking mess.

He knew she'd spoken to Max when he saw Max’ face on Wednesday morning,  
but he didn't bother to ask.

He hoped Max would be annoyed enough not to investigate either but of course he did.

Not really investigate, just a _”Back to being an asshole? Honeymoon’s over? God, Quinn, really?”_ , and then he left, snorting he wouldn't be home that night on his way out.

He peaked in a minute later again.

“Quinn?”

“Uhm?”

“Fix this. I might need that spare bedroom  
sooner or later.”

_So it's getting serious with his mysterious colleague._

“I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

That brought him Max’s full attention.

“Where are you going? I didn't mean to kick you out.”

“I know. It's time.”

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“Quinn, you-,” Max took a deep breath,  
“let me just say this: don't ruin it. She’s still Carrie.”

_Don't ruin it. Did I ruin it?_

They hugged before Max left, and then Quinn packed. Two bags. 

He left New York by noon, this time not planning to come back.

Carrie didn’t call on Thursday, although his phone was charged.

That night brought a mind boggling flashback. He was a young operative. Afghanistan. And then Islamabad, ten years later. Sandy. And in that version, Carrie as well.

Carrie was there when he went outside at 5 am, her car stood in the dark, a light rain falling on its roof.

She didn't get out when she saw him stepping out of the house so he went to the passenger's side and sat inside, wondering what outcome this encounter would bring.

“Why?”, Carrie asked with a flat voice.

“Why what?”

“Cut that crap, Quinn. Please.”

“No, really. Why what?”

“Tuesday.”

“When you made half an hour room in your calendar and I didn't jump with joy right away?”

“How about: when I came to see you the first time after ten days and you didn't even bother to look at me? And I don't recall any jumping.”

“Why did you come that day?”

“Fuck Quinn, do I really need a reason?  
I had a chance to come to New York, in fact I could have stayed overnight, and so I -,” her voice trailed off and he knew it’d be either an anger blow now or tears.

It was tears, her voice already with a slight quiver, he didn't dare to look at her, and yet it hurt.

“So?”

“Can we go inside? I’m freezing.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Around one. Came after work.”

He didn't ask why she hadn't come  
in, but thinking she’d been sitting here for hours - _just fuck_.

She was shivering when they stepped inside, it was a cold night, and the constant drizzle caused a humidity which crawled into one’s bones.

He kissed her hard on her mouth as soon as the door latched behind them,  
his right hand coming up to her clavicle, brushing his thumb over the delicate structure of her bone, knowing the sweet spot she had there all too well. 

“You came,” he whispered, his voice strained, backing her against the wall before he kissed her again, his touch growing bolder when his hand slid down to the side of her breast.

“Quinn,” her hands came up to frame his face, she sighed against his lips when he started kneading her breast with firm movements, thinking he’d never be able to do that with his left.

“Quinn, what the fuck?”

He stared down into her eyes, seeing her anger and something else, with which he couldn't deal now, that softness which he still often struggled to get used to.

But then she pulled him in and finally kissed him back, urgent and borderline rough, right what he needed now.

She was still in her work clothes, too much layers of fabric, pantsuit, blouse, his hand finding a way under the shirt, massaging her breast through the lace of her bra, rubbing her nipple too hard and too firm, and yet so good.

“Undress,” he demanded after breaking the kiss, his mouth just above her ear while he brushed his thumb over her nipple once more, causing Carrie to arch her back.

He backed away then, watching her as she put her jacket over the back of a chair and turned back towards him then, searching and finding his eyes in dark grey hours of that early morning.

Her hands went up to her buttons and she slowly opened them, one by one, her eyes never leaving his.

When the blouse was gone, she stepped out of her shoes, followed by opening the button of her pants, making them slip down with a swing of her hips, and then her hands went behind her back, undoing the tiny hooks of her bra. 

She peeled the straps from her shoulders, revealing milky skin and then the dark rosé of her nipples when she finally lowered the cups, so slowly, watching his face as she did so.

Her hands went down to her hips then, lowering the edge of her laced slip, revealing her soft curls, and then she stepped out of her underwear and was naked, for him. He knew she was cold, she had goosebumps now, but he took a moment longer just to take her in, feeling the urgency building up in the pit in his abdomen.

“Turn around,” he whispered, half convinced she'd kick his ass and get angry any second now, or probably already was, but she obeyed, her slender form a white contrast against the early dawn of the morning.

He stepped closer, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body before his large hand came to rest on her shoulder, following her spine then, before he started kneading her ass. 

Taking another step forward, Carrie was trapped between the wall and him now,  
and when his hand slipped between her thighs from behind, she braced herself against the wall and slightly widened her stance.

“That's what you came for? Getting laid?”, and of course he hated himself that moment.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Quinn,” was her reply, her tone sharp and hurt, of course.

His mouth came down to the gentle curve between her neck and shoulder, sucking the delicate skin there, while he spread his hand, covering her pussy, and then started to rub her clit with two of his fingers, making Carrie gasp and shiver.

She came fast and hard with a heartbreaking sob, her ass pressed against his hardon through his pants.

He turned her around, holding her clutched against his chest for a long moment before he kissed her, deep and with so much want.

“Upstairs,” he rasped out, following her when she detached and walked to the narrow staircase after searching his eyes for a long beat.

He followed her through the hallway, his own personal siren, just that she would save him.

When they stepped inside the bedroom, he embraced her from behind, kissing her neck, fondling the soft skin of her abdomen, finding her breast again, making her sigh.

He undressed, not as fast as he wanted to, but finally he was naked too, his cock twitching in anticipation when he pressed himself against Carrie and found his way between her buttocks.

“Get on your knees,” he whispered, his hand splayed on her hip, moving her forward towards the bed he’d finally bought.

Once Carrie was on all four, he pulled her hips back, lined himself up against her entrance and entered her, trying to hold back for the first thrusts.

He knew it was a cliché, and knowing this fueled his irrational anger and pain, but having Carrie was all he could do to fight the desperation and finality. 

Holding her hips, he drove into her, Carrie meeting his thrusts with pushing back, his abdomen smacking against her buttocks each time.

He came when Carrie went down on her elbows, allowing him a deeper angle, hitting a sweet spot for her which made her clench around him while she gasped his name, again and again, so he drove into her deeper and faster, feeling his orgasm approaching as a violent torrent, his vision fading to black when his body tensed.

Next thing he knew was that he was in Carrie’s arms, on the bed, Carrie’s tears on his cheeks, and he was crying too, holding her desperate and tight.

“Please don't cry,” he whispered, “did I hurt you?”

“Not _that_ way. No. But yes. You hurt me.”

She held him through all of it, he was a shaking mess, but she was there, caressing him, soothing whispers, brushing away his tears with her thumb, cradling him in her arms.

When they made love again, it was exactly that - making love, slow and careful. Carrie had held him in a close embrace for a long while before her caresses had ignited an ardent desire for more.

She was a little tender now and inhaled sharply when he hit a sore spot, but held him close when he wanted to pull back.

“Stay,” she whispered, her eyes locked with his, “I need you.”

Afterwards, they laid together in silence for a long time, watching a new day rising, with a bright blue sky, rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the rain just a distant memory from the night before.

“They said I won’t get any better,” he finally said.

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah.”

“Right before I came then?”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

“I couldn't. I- it's hard. Even now.”

“I know,” Carrie replied quietly, he felt her breath warm on his skin, “Look, I won’t tell you that you came so far, and that you should focus on your achievements rather than your limitations and all that crap.”

“Appreciated.”

“Just two things: one, I know it's not enough for you. But for me, it's more than I could ever wish for. I’m here. With you. Which leads to number two,” she sat up, looking right into his face, “it was a year, on Tuesday. A year ago to that very day I saw you dying Quinn and-,” she teared up but took a deep breath, “don't you ever diminish what ground you covered ever since.”

She leant in and took his left hand, holding it in her hands.

“This hand might not be stable enough to shoot long distance, and I know that sucks, and all the other things suck too, but you survived, Quinn.”

He sat up too, freeing his hand from Carrie’s touch to be able to embrace her tightly.

“See. That's how fucked I am. I forgot the date. I’m sorry.”

“God,” Carrie was laughing and sobbing, “it's not that we should celebrate that anniversary.”

“No. But I should have at least asked you how you were that day.”

“I ruined Max’s date.”

“What?”, he moved back a bit to look at her.

“I called him. After you left. He had a date. Which he canceled to have dinner with me.”

Quinn raised his eyebrows, knowing now why Max had been so pissed with him.

“He’s a good friend, Quinn.”

“I know. He is.”

He sank back into the pillows, opening his arm to invite Carrie to lie back down with him, relieved when she followed his silent plea.

“What now?”, she asked, holding hands again.

“I have no idea. For the last few months, since Thanksgiving, it was about getting _better_ , and now- I just don't know.”

“That's difficult?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, finding it difficult to talk about it, “all my adult life was about achieving _something_. Having a purpose. And now-”

“That's gone,” Carrie finished the sentence for him.

He shrugged, and didn't answer.

“I know it's worth nothing now, but you’ll find something. Give yourself some time.”

“It's been a year already.”

“It's two days since you learnt it.”

“Yeah.”

Carrie crawled up his side and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m here Quinn,” she spoke softly, her lips touching his skin, “Not every day - but as much and as often as you need me. You’ll figure it out.”

He let her fall asleep a while later, she’d have to go back in the early afternoon, and hadn't slept at all last night. He stayed with her until she was deep asleep, feeling like the idiot he probably was when thinking back to how he’d treated her Tuesday. 

There was no way how he could fall asleep now, so he got up and silently left the room, hoping to be back before she’d wake up.

Coming back from the beach walk he’d done, he found Carrie sitting on the veranda, wearing one of his hoodies with her knees tucked under it, sipping her coffee. She had three vials standing on the old table in front of her.

He loved seeing her like this, this different version of her, before she got ready for the day, and thinking that he was probably the only one who’d ever seen this Carrie made a flicker of a smile appear on his face.

“What?”

“Appreciating the view.”

“Ah.”

“What's that?”

“My pills. Look at these. Lithium. Wellbutrin. Haloperidol,” she pointed at each of the vials, “I need to bring them anywhere I go, even when I come here for the night. I might get a different prescription one day, but this is the current mix. It won't get better. I _am_ better these days, but there's no guarantee. And you,” her eyes were chosing his eyes, “never judged me for this. You just accepted it. Show the same patience for yourself, at least try.”

She got up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a brief kiss, and then she took his left hand and kissed his palm before she placed it against her cheek.

“I gotta go now. Want me to come back Saturday?”

“Give me a few days,” he pulled her in a close embrace, his chin coming to rest at the top of her head, “maybe next weekend? Or I come to see you mid-week?”

They stood like this for a long time, the waves rolling in down at the beach the only sound, holding each other tight, a year after Berlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing a fic is always hard for me. It makes me sad, really sad.
> 
> Especially this one, because this was what I envisioned for season 6, back in August 2016 when the first spoilers and set pics came in.
> 
> We got none of it, and so it took me quite a while to be able to return to this particular headcanon and follow their journey here.
> 
> I hope you see what I saw: I wanted them to move into a grown up relationship, they have a lot of struggles, there is no miracle cure for Quinn (and neither for Carrie) - but they'll always find their way towards each other.
> 
> What would happen next? They won't move in with each other. Carrie loves her new job, but has struggles to balance her private and professional life, Quinn needs a long time to find what he'll do next, and he does not return to live in Washington or around. He will stay where Carrie leaves him in chapter 15, in that house by the ocean. Carrie will be there often, or he visits her and Franny. 
> 
> He starts a small consulting and translation business, a few hours each day.
> 
> He has dark days and nights, but never gives up, and learns to live with it.
> 
> But a few years later, towards the end of Keane's tenure, Carrie is asked to take over a research project in Israel and of course he goes with her.
> 
> But that would be another story.
> 
>  
> 
> And last but not least: Some of my friends helped me to keep going, thanks girls!
> 
> Saying that SNQA edited this chapter would be a massive understatement because she did so much more. ❤️


End file.
